


I’ll wait ’til I take that role

by CelticPrincess



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Auror Draco Malfoy, Auror Training, Banter, Canon Divergence - Post-Hogwarts, Dirty Talk, Domestic Fluff, Dramione Ministry, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Head Auror Draco Malfoy, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), Ministry of Magic Employee Draco Malfoy, Ministry of Magic Employee Hermione Granger, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, PWP, Porn With Plot, Post-Canon, Post-Hogwarts, Sexy Times
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:22:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28930947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelticPrincess/pseuds/CelticPrincess
Summary: Hermione is still adjusting to her newly appointed position as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 12
Kudos: 92





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first fic for this fandom! I'm a writer but for screenplay so bear with me! This was initially meant to be a one-shot but will now be a multi-fic.
> 
> Just a cute little smutty Dramione Ministry story because I needed a break from the long Dark Medieval times Dramione fic i've been working on since August. And also, why not!?
> 
> Enjoy!

Hermione landed steadily in one of the several fireplace queues. She shuffled out and walked hastily through the Ministry Atrium. Her meeting with one of the third-party offices that the Department of Magical Law Enforcement outsourced ran longer than expected. She knew she would be running behind on the mountain of impending work on her office desk and she dreaded it.

As she passed the newly restored Fountain of Magical Brethren, Hermione called out for someone to hold the elevator as the automatic doors had begun to close. Clutching her small bag with her left hand, her right hand just barely jolted the sliding doors from shutting on her small fingers.  
  
“I know you heard me asking to hold the lifts.” Hermione barked with a caustic edge upon seeing the only person inconsiderate enough to have ignored her pleas.  
  
Running his deft fingers through his perfectly groomed hair, Draco Malfoy asserted the petite woman with an amused smirk. “Did I? Didn’t realize you acquired auditory empathy. Are you clairaudient? You should see someone about that.”

“What would I be without all of your wisdom filled advice?” Hermione huffed begrudgingly as she adjusted her pencil skirt, smoothed over her tame curls, and straightened her blouse.

“You’d be slightly more dismal and desolate.” His tone was casual as he pressed a button to their destination once she entered.  
  
Hermione maintained her expression of distaste and stared at the lift doors. She felt Draco's eyes on her. He expected a reaction. The canny voice in her head never failed to scold her, tell her that she needed to avoid heeding to him at all costs even though he somehow managed to eventually cleave his way under her skin just enough to disrupt her fortitude.  
  
Hermione had now been working as Head of the DMLE for a little over a year. Kingsley had her on a sure fire fast-track to becoming Junior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic. It was all part of Hermione’s fifteen year plan which had been adjusted to ten years after her abrupt break-up with Ron.

She was wildly focused on her career, now. It gave her something to keep her mind busy while simultaneously working with her best friend. That _was_ until Harry made the decision to take an indefinite leave as Head Auror to become an at-home father and support Ginnys decision in signing a 5-year contract with he Holyhead Harpies.

Hermione was in no way averse to his decision. She admired the shameless role reversal. She was happy for her two best-friends success in marriage, parenthood, and careers. She wanted the best for them.

“I’m very excited for you, Harry. But, I still can’t believe you left me with _Malfoy_.” Hermione exasperated while Harry picked up her finished plate of food.  
  
Hermione’s complaint was melodramatic and voiced as farce. But, she had been stuck having to learn from and work with Draco Malfoy, who had been next in line for Head of Auror Offices.

Apparently, he was _actually_ good at something.

It troubled her that she partially credited Draco for much of her impressive knowledge around the Auror Offices and other sub-divisions under her administration. Kingsley expected Hermione to grasp the inner functions of every department in the DMLE. Through all of their snide repartee, Draco unfailingly made sure she did. Harry had taught her quite a bit about the Auror Offices before he left. Draco, however, was concise, hands on, and did not believe in cutting corners. If Hermione was going to learn, he ensured she would the proper way.

Draco somehow cultivated healthy relationships with the entire organization, too. She had even overheard a considerable amount of witches and wizards associating him with the word _charismatic._

Hermione snorted at the spurious description. Draco Malfoy was anything _but_. His sharp chin and nose may have curved into a fuller chisel while his pureblood manners, fine suits, and notable intuition for the criminal mind may have fooled everyone else, but to her, he was still the same indignant fool who had made her question her sense of self one too many times.

“It’s been eight months,” Harry shook his head knowingly at his dramatic friend. “And you’re his superior. It should be you making _his_ job unbearable.”

Hermione pouted and turned to look at Ginny. “Do you know how stilted my pride has been having to learn _anything_ from that insufferable man?”

Ginny almost choked in amusement over her glass of red wine when she saw the look of contrition in her husbands expression. “He can’t be that terrible if Harry thought he was best suited to overtake his duties,” Hermione shot her friend an incredulous look and Ginny giggled before continuing. “We’ve had him over a few times with his Aunt and Teddy. He’s become quite…charming. _Great_ with children.”

Harry walked into the kitchen to discard the dirty dishes.  
  
“Ginerva Potter-Weasley, I am truly concerned that you’ve fallen off your broomstick one too many times. Malfoy? Monstrous mites with luscious silver hair are far from _charming_ no matter how straight their teeth are—rebarbative is a much more conforming adjective for his like.”

“You just called his hair luscious.” Ginny said with a judgmental smirk.

Harry returned with a plate of strawberry scones. He set them on the table and found his place next to Ginny again. “How are you and McLaggen doing?” He opted to change the course of the conversation and Hermione was happy to oblige. Anything to avoid Ginnys suggestive, lopsided grin.

Hermione sighed. “Bland as usual. He isn’t speaking to me this week.”

“You don’t care,” Ginny commented. “ _As usual_.”

“He’ll be fine. It’s not like I didn’t set clear boundaries in the beginning. He should know better than to have visited me at my place of work. I can’t have any distractions. I need to be taken serious and establish a salient reputation.” Hermione reached for a scone.

“Right.” Harry refilled his wife’s glass of wine and snagged a scone for himself. “Having a boyfriend just screams ‘ _I can’t be taken serious_ ’. Never-mind the fact that you’re Hermione-bloody-Granger.”

“He is not, has never, and will _never_ be my boyfriend. We’ve had tea a few times and that was all.”

“And sex.” Ginny pointed.

“That was a one time, non-repetitive occurrence.”  
  
“Gross.” Harry groaned. “First Ron talking about Trish the other ni-“

Harry stalled completing his sentence when Ginny snapped her head to him, eyes wide.

“I-I mean—gross, Hermione. You deserve better.” Harry stuffed his face so hard with the scone, he almost knocked his own eyeglasses off his face.

“Yeah, I agree.” Ginny nodded.

Hermione flitted her eyes between the two. Their demeanor had shifted into a strange one. She grew tired of this; tired of them stepping on eggshells around her, of how things had changed. “How is Ronald by the way?”

“He’s fine.” Ginny answered quickly.

“Great. Same old Ron.” Harry offered a nervous laugh.

There was an obvious hedge in the conversation.

“Right.” Hermione finished her scone and dusted her hands together. “ _That_ is my cue as soon as you two start treating _his_ existence like a taboo.”

“Hermione…” Harry hesitated.

“We just—you haven’t been the same since—well, since everything went down between the two of you. We only want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I have to be up before the sun. I should get going.” She stood and gathered her things. “I need to mentally prepare for yet another eventful day with Malfoy, anyway.”

The thought of seeing Draco comforted her more than it needed to in that moment. Albeit he was what she’d consider a professional agitator, he challenged her daily—gave her something to feel, regardless if it inflicted some wit-filled chafe.

Hermione offered both her friends tight hugs and they walked her to the door of Grimmauld Place. “Give James a big kiss for me?”

Ginny nodded and Harry pulled Hermione into another embrace, tighter and filled with a fervor edge that had been absent in the previous one. He held her for a few moments before letting her go.

We love you, do you hear me? I love you. You’re my best mate. We’ll talk later?”  
  
Hermione responded to him with a small smile and nod as she got a better look at the face of her best friend. The years treated him well. His skin was pale, smoothed with his age that lined softly around his under eyes. Underneath the thick facial hair he managed to grow, he was every bit the timid, willful, loyal, bright-eyed boy she’d met in first year.

Once she was outside, she released a harsh breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

_Ron. You’re supposed to be my best friend, too._

She shut her eyes, rounded her shoulders, and apparated away.

The lift chimed on the second floor, pushing Hermione from the memory all those months ago. Draco allowed Hermione out first before he stepped forward.

 _Manners._ She internally rolled her eyes.

“As always, it’s been a pleasure, Granger.” Draco started for the Auror Headquarters.  
  
“Astringent seems more favorably authentic,” With a grandiose purse of her lips, Hermione had begun her descent in the direction of her office. “Good day, Mister Malfoy.”  
.

.

.

.

Hermione scribbled quickly on the parchment paper sealed against the clipboard in her hand. She followed Arthur Weasley through the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office as she conducted her weekly audit on the department. The previous Head had taken her through the process several times during her shadow entrance trial while she transitioned. Now, she reviewed a cabinet of alphabetically organized files that corresponded with a logged item and case number so naturally, she could practically complete the hour long audit in her sleep. Once she finished, she thanked Arthur and the other employees in the crammed room, and walked out.

With a relieved sighed, she tucked her hair behind her ear as she walked down the corridor. It hadn’t been awkward seeing Arthur. Despite her lack of communication with Ron for almost two years, Arthurs treatment of Hermione remained unchanged. He still watched over her like his own and his attempts at jokes were still humorous in that ‘too-old-father-isn’t-really-that-funny’sort of way. He only ever brought up Ron in passing with his brothers, mentioned whenever ‘the boys’ were back and wreaking havoc on Molly. She didn’t know if that was a good sign or a bad one. It didn’t matter. It was probably better that they abstained from delving into that discourse.

Hermione moved beyond the threshold of large wooden doors that lead into another corridor where her office was located. Immediately, she noticed Draco leaned over her secretary’s desk, who's head tossed back in merriment at something Draco whispered into her ear.

_Nothing he says could ever be that funny._

“Angela,” Hermione piqued with a sweet smile, “This is probably the most sound and brutally honest advice you’ll ever receive from me—run.”

Angela abruptly stood straight with a blush on her face while Draco’s expression was lax, eyeing Hermione. Almost as if he had staged this. _Almost._

“Miss—Hermione—I have your tea, just the way you like it.” She swallowed, eyes wide, cheeks as red as her hair, and nervous. It was clear the young woman felt embarrassed. Hermione knew Angela only ever aimed to impress her—and she did. She reminded Hermione of a younger, more eager to please version of herself. “A—and i’ve sent for your lunch to be delivered—from your favorite takeaway shop.” The shaking woman handed Hermione the cup of tea, which had a warming charm on it.

“Thank you. I trust you aren’t overworking yourself and will be going for your break soon?” Hermione perked a brow, purposefully ignoring Draco’s warmly acute stare once more. The woman nodded enthusiastically and Hermione continued. “Any updates on the list of meetings this week?”  
  
“Nothings changed. But, this was on my desk when I walked in.” With a timid gesture, Angela passed a manila folder into Hermione’s hand. Hermione swiftly analyzed its contents before shutting the folder to drag her haughty brown orbs toward Draco. “Wonderful.” Hermione hummed as she took a sip of the hot tea her secretary had given to her. “I’ll be in my office if you need me.”

Hermione swayed curtly to her quarters, knowing all too well Draco was not far behind. She smiled at his predictability. It made her feel something warm that she pushed into the deepest crevices of her mind. She had been around him enough to know he only patronized her side of the Department when there was urgent business or he required upper management approval or review. It had only been a couple of weeks since she’s had to _closely_ bask in his _cavalier_ presence.

They had spent days working long nights on a complex case, primarily so that Hermione learned how to handle escalated issues that interdepartmentally crossed. She was relieved when it was finally over. She _thought_ she had her moment to breathe. It was evidently short-lived.

She even suspected Draco enjoyed having the upper-hand being familiar in a subject that the _Brightest_ witch of her age didn’t.

“I always forget she exists,” Draco shut the door to Hermione’s office with his foot. “I’ll have to frequent these corridors more often.”

“Please refrain from your sordid serenading of my employee until I no longer require your…local insight of the Auror offices.”Hermione settled herself behind her desk.

Draco strolled nonchalantly toward the chair directly across from her. “I’m only a man, Granger.”  
  
“And here I thought you were a beastly deplorable.”  
  
“Is that what you think of me? That what you like in a man?” Draco’s lip quirked. He landed with a plop as he sat and made himself extra comfortable, stretching his legs over her desk, crossed at the ankles.

Hermione shot an irritated glare at his leather clad feet.

“Find another poor girls life to ruin for the time being if you can’t contain your trousers.”  
  
“Fine.” Draco said with a grey glint in his eye. “I suppose I seem to be ruining yours just fine.”

“You overestimate your influence over me if you believe I’d ever give you the power to ruin any part of my life.” She slammed her desk drawer as she pulled out an ink pot and quill and started writing. Draco simply chuckled and Hermione wondered if he was going to make his purpose for being there known. She had very important matters to tend to and would be most grateful to do that without _Draco Malfoy_ lounging around her space.

A few silent moments went by, the friction of her scribbling the only tangible sound.

Hermione saw him wave his wand from the corner of her eye. Out of thin thin air appeared a copy of the Daily Prophet. He began to read the floating document aloud.

“Lets see who’s the doomed lad this time.”  
  
Hermione craned her head up momentarily with a curious expression.  
  
“Roe Fawley,” He clicked his tongue and snorted. “A Hufflepuff. The name alone gave him away.”

Hermione dipped her quill in the ink, attempting to appear calm and as to not reveal just how annoyed she was becoming. She already knew where this was going and she needed to control her wrist from shooting a Melefors Jinx his way. She needed to contain _some_ semblance of professionalism.

“What else? Freckles, average test scores—ah! A Sacred 28 member, only, without the prestige and estate. I see a blueprint here. You have a type, don’t you Granger?”

Hermione flared internally. “Jealous that my type isn’t a silver haired, classist, Slytherin with deep seated fraternal issues who demonstrates obvious feelings of unwarranted importance out of overbearing pride?”

Draco watched Hermione, a satisfied grin painted across his smooth lips. Hermione turned back to filling out her report for the Department of Intoxicating substances.

_Stop heeding him._

“I’m merely analyzing a pattern here. Feel free to correct me if I’m wrong but, as long as you’ve been working the Ministry for the last what—seven years? You’ve been calculatedly private about practically everything, save for your imperious swottiness—that’s a given—”

Hermione’s eye twitched. Should she just cast the jinx now?

“—However, much like last month, _this_ month, there’s not only a story on page _one_ of you prancing about in Hogsmeade with another ineligible git—complimented with photos,” Draco used his wand to flip through the tabloid. He reclined himself, clearing his throat. “On page _four_ in the Quidditch section, there also seems to be a corresponding story: _Luck, love, and consanguinity is the Weasley seal. Ronald Weasley, Former Keeper of the Wimbourne Wasps recently celebrated his engagement to girlfriend of two years, Trisha Buttermere. This is following the long awaited moment when Ginerva and Harry Potter welcomed their first child, James Sirius Potter._ ”

“I don’t care for Skeeters fiend recap of what I’m already acquainted with in detail.”

Draco surveyed Hermione closely. “You’re subtle—not subtle enough.”

She ignored him, focused on what she was writing.

“So tell me, Granger,” His tone was mockingly cheerful. “Does this Fawley fellow know he was just a plot device for your bitter ex-girlfriend agenda and impressive control over Rita Skeeter—which by the way, I still want to know how you manage to keep her on a leash from publishing _more_ awful hyperbole that she passes off as journalism.”

“I’m not bitter.” Was Hermione's confession after sometime.. She was _not_ bitter. She moved on from Ron and he knew that. She _hoped_ he knew. Hermione Granger did not stay stuck in the past.

“No?” Draco waved his wand and the Daily Prophet vanished. “I’m just to assume this has all been by chance then?”

Hermione paused. She licked her lower lip before setting down her quill and slowly standing from her seat. Draco watched her as she slithered around the side of her desk where Draco's feet were pointed.

“Auror Malfoy.”

“Yes?”

“What does Kingsley think I’m in dire need of help with _now_ to assign you to me once again?”

Draco seemed to consider Hermione for a moment before he stuck his arm out to grab a trinket on Hermione’s desk. “Nothing today that I’m aware of.”

Hermione watched his hands play with the dormant golden snitch Ginny gifted her as a good-luck charm when she had been hand-picked her for her current position. They were large and looked rough but, gentle at the same time.

Hermione shook the inappropriate direction her mind fought to wander toward and lifted her chin with a tight smile. “Then get out.”

Draco was unprepared for the harsh thrust when Hermione forced his feet off her desk. Her expression was triumphant as he gathered himself.

There was a knock at the door before her secretary Angela entered with Hermione’s lunch, placed it on her desk, and excused herself. 

Draco stood, looming over Hermione with a dark smile. “I hope Roe Fawley is everything your heart desires. Merlin knows, you’re not what he desires. He wouldn’t be able to handle your irascible nature.

Hermione frowned, wishing she could rip his perfectly groomed hair to shreds along with his priggish grin.

 _Irascible nature?_ _How dare he? What would he possibly know about someones capacity to deal with me as if I’m an enigma of unpleasant surprises?_

Draco invaded the breadth of space left between them. “Oh Granger,” He peered menacingly at her. “I wouldn’t say you’re _unpleasant_.”

Hermione bit down on her tongue as her thoughts went cold but, her body betrayed her as it moved into an uncharacteristic degree of heat.

“Stay out of my head.”

“I don’t have to perform Legillimens to know what that big brain of yours is thinking. It’s written all over your pretty little face.” His voice was low, _raspier_ , and she quickly felt the loss of his warm breath when he stepped back.

Hermione attempted to school her expression at the _acclamation?_

“You may have terrible taste in men.” Draco snagged half of Hermione's sandwich, sinking his teeth into it.

His throat bobbed with a masculine prominence when he swallowed. Something within hervibrated. She wanted to look away.

“Mmm,” Draco hummed, mouth half full, flicking away some crumbs as he turned to leave her office. “But, at-least you have impeccable taste in sandwiches.”

.

.

.

.  
  
“Granger, can’t stay away from me?” Hermione had become accustomed to the innate reaction of rolling her eyes whenever she recognized that gravelly voice. She stepped aside as Draco exited the destination of interest just as she was going to enter before running into him.

“I couldn’t be far enough. If you _must_ know, I have a very important meeting with Kingsley.”

Draco had one hand stuffed in his trousers which matched the rest of his fine suit. “How delightful. I just had myself one of those special meetings with the Minister. He’s a fine man.”

“Hopefully to inform him of your resignation?” Hermione placed her hand over her heart in feigned elation.

Draco tutted. “I couldn’t resign just yet. Things are _finally_ getting good around the office.” His stance was tall and broad as he circled in on her.

“Did someone finally let you know that wearing _that,_ ” Hermione flicked his tie. “—suggests you like to sell cockroaches disguised as cauldron cakes for double the price?”

Draco’s eyes were glued to Hermione’s hand. Almost as if the contact dazed him.

“Has my tie become your newest kink, Granger? I can give you a tour of my collection one day if your predilections become…overbearing.”

Something about his enunciation of predilection kindled a teetering scale in her lower abdomen. It felt like a corporeal betrayal to her mind.

“May I remind you that I am _your_ direct supervisor.” Hermione’s eyes caught the dancing smirk tugged at his lips and looked back up at him. “I would _never_ want to see your ghastly collection of ties.”

“ _Ah_ , you want me trembling in anticipation. Well, I do love a woman on top.”

Hermione scoffed in forced disgust. “You’re still as foul as you look. Now if you’ll excuse me, Kingsley awaits.”

.

.

.

.

Hermione barged through the ligneous oak double doors leading into the Auror Offices. It was a cavern of crowded cubicles extending deep out of scope, lit with candles, and memos spurting with verve. Hermione’s heels clacked against the smoothed mineral floor and stopped right ahead of the Head of Auror office. She overheard quieted mutters from the surrounding Aurors as she rounded her shoulders before pressing the tip of her wand at the crack of the warded doors until she was granted access. She walked through and sealed them behind her.

“Why was this on my desk? I have no jurisdiction dealing with magical forensic evidence. That is for the _magical forensics_ section.” Hermione slapped a thick folder directly over the work Draco was concentrated on.

She wasn’t _actually_ angry. Maybe a bit _stressed_ with the additional task on-top of the pile of memos and work she needed to dissolute regarding the _other_ ten offices and departments she oversaw.

The moment she realized what it was as when Angela handed her the documents as she walked in this morning, Hermione relished at the opportunity to brave him in _his_ office for once. They’d usually work on cases or assignments in the conference room down the hall or, on occasion in her office when he rushed in last minute with critical news that demanded they stay past normal work hours. But, she had never been in his office since being elected Head of the Auror Offices.

Draco, just as the rest of his office, was neat and orderly; trimmed white hair, grey shirt, black slacks and bright silver eyes. He had a large calendar with legible objectives, dates, and events plastered on the wall adjacent to him. Binders, books, and boxes of documents occupied a shelf on the back wall, and his desk was spacious with a framed photo of Lucius and Narcissa looking as regal as ever. She even noticed a trinket of his own—a long upward spiraling snake made from moonstone.

“It was addressed to you, was it not?” Draco leaned back, seemingly unbothered with Hermione’s attempted burst at imposing on him. “I’m well aware of how the line of responsibility and succession runs in my division. It wasn’t a mistake. I don’t often have room for error in my work.”

Hermione didn’t budge her assertive tone and stoic expression. “That’s news to me. You seem to have just made one.”

Draco clasped his hand over his desk and raked his eyes with an almost moderate restraint over Hermione’s form before motioning his head. “Please, sit.”

She recognized that tone.

It reached out and brushed something unorthodox inside of her. It appeared whenever he wore his _‘Head of Auror Offices’_ mask. He was confident, serious, methodical. It was the only time Hermione found him bearable to be around and even—dare she say—to some degree, magnetic.

Hermione sat and crossed her legs. “Make it quick. Kingsley arranged a meeting with someone in your department regarding a unique case that he believes will further help my developments as Head.”

“You’re right on time.” He smirked knowingly.

Hermione’s mouth parted slightly.

 _Of course_.

She should have known better. That it would be with none other than _Draco Malfoy._

Which indicated that it was important.

She had briefly reviewed the contents of the folder but nothing about the case stood out to her as anything prominent. What she _had_ skimmed over appeared redundant. It was a case that received a bench trial months ago.

“One of my Aurors identified a Death Eater who had been a high profile fugitive on my radar. He was found dead—murdered earlier this year.”

“Willan Selwyn, yes. I’ve been briefed on this.” She pointed to the now infamous folder. “I’m vaguely familiar with the details. I was never assigned to spectate this particular case when it saw it’s day in the Wizengamot.”

“Typically, we don’t concern ourselves with dead Death Eaters wanted for house-elf trafficking rings. Especially when they’re involved with all kinds of criminals, it’s difficult to narrow down who would want his head. But, his wife Moira Selwyn was just declared dead about an hour ago. The magical autopsy just confirmed the cause of death.”

“And?” Hermione perked a brow. She was a student first no matter her position, she reminded herself. She needed to keep an open mind if she were going to succeed.

Draco waved his wand and a file floated from one of the many boxes on the back wall. When it slid into his hand, he opened it and slid it across the desk, facing Hermione. She was startled to see a moving photo of a distraught house-elf posing, holding up a board with numbers, and wearing shackles.

“Nimisera—former servant to the Selwyns is our prime suspect. We believe they’re connected.”

Draco lifted a brow at Hermione’s sudden silence as she stared at him with alarm.  
  
“What?”

He grinned, as if he had been looking for that exact reaction. “It’s quite a messy case. The Selwyns are pressing charges to have Nimisera receive the harshest punishment for her crimes.”

Hermione’s expression hardened as it shifted. “Nimisera was one of the _first_ house-elves I registered as _free_. _That’s_ who they believe murdered that _vile_ Death Eater? Absolutely not, this is opprobrious and illegal. The case needs to be thrown out immediately.”

“Ah, you’re beautifully predictable.”

Hermione felt warm when she should’ve felt trodden.

“I didn’t dedicate five years to the DRCMC solely to indulge in books all day. My approach and success there was purposeful, humane, and effective, all with an _emphasis_ on house-elf rights. There’s no reason why _anyone_ should have sent me this blasphemy. That elf is protected under the Stockholm Act of section four—”

“Yes, yes, I’m _awfully_ familiar with your legislation Granger, and I share your sentiments. However, the prosecutor is pushing for a fair trial, especially now that house-elves are considered equal to man and wizard. If they can prove Nimisera murdered the wife, I’m most certain they’ll claim partial bias influenced the Wizengamots initial decision and ask for an appeal on Willans case.”

Hermione bit her lip at the bile of dismay that rose. Her passion and desire for justice and wreaking nothing but regulatory havoc on a system that operated oppressively against magical creatures and muggles overtook her.

 _Kingsley_ wanted Hermione to work on what would soon be her first appellate case.

This one in particular smelled absolutely rotten.

“This will not be your first appeal?” Hermione questioned, genuinely curious how deep Dracos experience and knowledge went.

All the years she’d spent working in the DRCMC, not once did she consider that Draco had made himself a reliable asset within the Ministry.

“No. This would be my third.” Draco answered. “I worked closely with Harry when I was Auror. He allotted me responsibilities beyond my pay grade.”

“Not that it affected you.” Hermione mumbled

Draco’s mask cracked and his grey’s shone with a beaming expression before the bulge at his throat bobbed when he swallowed and adjusted his mask once more.

“It may not surprise you but, monetary compensation is not what keeps me here.”  
  
“Then what does?”

There was a daring hesitance.

“Judgement.” There was credence to his words.

Hermione snorted.  
  
“That’s ironically honest of you.”

“Have I ever proven otherwise? That I’m not an honest man? Do you prefer I lie and betray?” There was no menace in his voice, just a sort of practicality.

“No. Of course not.” Hermione snapped. Draco was evaluating her, watching her choose her next words with an expectant gaze. She sat straighter, attempting to curb the shudder that ran down her spine. “You may have proven to have been _unduly_ honest in the past. But, I appreciate a person with integrity.”

He smiled.

“You think I have integrity?”

“You’re getting there.” Her lips spread in an amused upturn, refusing to fully compliment him.

The way his eyes traveled with slight over her arms, hands, and face had her wondering what he was thinking. Was he criticizing her attire? Her freckles? Her hair? Did he like it?

_Why would he? You don’t don’t want him to._

“Then we will move forward.” He nodded his head as he shut the folder. “Please review the entire case in depth. I’ve hired two new Aurors in training and I’m putting them on the case as well. I know how much _responsibility_ is on your shoulders today. We will go over Moira Selwyns murder tomorrow.”


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this has turned into a mini multi-chapter story. I have more than 20k words written and it's so close to being complete. I got a bit carried away. The next chapter is going to be uploaded in the next hour or so. Thanks for reading. <3
> 
> Also, I took liberties with the law here. Nothing is concrete. I don't think there's much structure in the justice/law system at he Ministry or Wizarding world, especially post war. I'm assuming the stability and strength is still being built and restructured which is why the prosecution here is really anyone allowed to challenge the Ministry and their handling of cases. I take a lot of verbiage from American law. Thats it. I let my imagination run with this one. Theres no wrong or right lol.

The week was exhausting. Hermione had been uniting with Draco and his two Aurors in training for the murder case, newly graduated students from Hogwarts—Aidan Moon and Owen Corner.

Their sessions took place after midday in the conference room. A connective diagram of possible suspects and the victims were magically strewn across the wall, while Draco went over the basics of their functions and expectations involving Dark Arts offenses. The young men jotted down notes and asked questions while Hermione sat back, and observed _him_.

She particularly enjoyed his tongue and how it would click against his palate to further demonstrate his words. When the young men did not respond immediately to his questions, Draco never looked disappointed but, the crease between his eyebrows would deepen and he’d look around before reformulating his lesson as a hypothetical.

He commanded the room. Even as he loosened his tie after over-analyzing reports. She could pick up when the cogs began reeling in his mind as he struggled to allow himself to assume the point of view of the murderer.

He _was_ magnetic.

Hermione did her best to remain quiet during these moments of teaching. She long learned her lesson about never taking a learning opportunity from someone. _And_ she also wanted to establish her authority. Draco ensured they knew exactly who Hermione Granger was, instilling the gravity of her importance.

She caught his gaze slipping to her when he commended her, seeking a favorable reception from Hermione. She had no choice but to school her features into neutrality despite a part of her taking delight in the idea that he sought her approval.

Hermione had already forgone the training the young men were going through with Harry and Draco. She had been required to go through all eleven of the departments basic preparedness. She knew her moment to learn would come. However, she couldn’t help the precipitous insert of a new idea or suggestion. Especially when she was so enchanted with a new finding that she just _had_ to bring attention to what Draco had overlooked.

Draco was intrigued whenever Hermione spoke up. She would catch him trying to contain a grin as he smirked with his steely blue orbs. He never failed to thank her with a deep breath, a nod of appreciation, and swift turn of his body, before advancing along the missive he followed.

It was now Monday morning and the first day of the preliminary hearing taking place in one of the courtrooms of the lower dungeons. Hermione was seated at the raised benches for parliament members in her dark Ministry Robes. To the right of her, Kingsley Shacklebolt sat, both their lower halves shielded by the Minister podium.

Further up from them were Wizengamot officials in their signature plum attire. Draco sat at the very last row beneath Hermione in his Auror robes, intently watching the ashened elf being questioned by Albert Pritchard under oath. Aiden and Owen were shadowing Draco a couple of seats away from him, writing pads and quills in hand.

“Nimisera, you served house Selwyn for approximately two generations, correct?” Pritchard’s question echoed through the large cathedral sounding space.

“Yes.” The small, shaky elf responded in her seat as the man circled her.

“And you enjoyed serving them?” He pushed, hands joined together behind his back.

Draco shot up. “Minister, she cannot answer the question as protected under the Stockholm Syndrome Act. The defendant was under involuntary servitude at the time and her mental state was considered compromised and under duress.”

Shacklebolt waved his hand agreeably. “Counsellor Pritchard, please rephrase your question.”

“Nimisera, we have an official statement recorded here with your release papers when you were freed.” The man in billowing black robes handed the document to Nimisera. Hermione noticed the tense posture of the poor elf on the witness chair in the middle of the oval room. “Please read this.”

“ _N-Nimisera is very very happy with Miss Mudblood Granger.”_ The thin elf stuttered as she read aloud. “ _Nimisera no l-longer will be afraid of M-master Selwyns flogs a-and Nimisera will not wait days to eat. Nimisera can now be happy with Ritty._ ”

Hermione bit her lip. Her stomach churned. There was a look of dark amusement on Pritchard's tight barbed face when he glanced at her briefly. Hermione had no idea why the man was still allowed near the Ministry.

Come to think of it, Kingsley had expressed his disdain for Albert Pritchard in passing.

Hermione schooled her expression and studied the people around her carefully. She saw Draco twist his neck in obvious discomfort. The innocent statement she had been physically present for was being deviously influenced for the prosecutions advantage.

“Could you tell the Wizengamot today who Ritty is?” Pritchard questioned.

“Objection, Minister! Relevance.” Draco asserted. Hermione could see the outline of his unflawed side profile when he looked back at Kingsley expectantly.

“Counsellor?” Kingsley raised a warning brow at Pritchard.

“It will become apparent, Minister.” Pritchard stated with an overtly satisfied victor.

Kingsley sighed and motioned for him to continue. All the while Hermione could only picture Draco's bluish veins from underneath his robes swelling with the way his fist curled, pressed to his mouth, indicating his impatience.

Seeing him so invested and in his element moved trickles of sparks up her legs and down her arms.

“Ritty was Nimiseras one true love.” Nimisera kept her eyes downcast.“Nimisera served the great great grandparents of House Selwyn with Ritty. Ritty took lots of care of Mistress Moira.”

“And who did _you_ mostly tend to?” Pritchard was a sheer bastard.

“Nimisera took lots of care of Master Willan.”

“How would you describe your relationship with Moira Selwyn?”

“Nimisera would get very angry at Mistress Moira. Mistress Moira never let Ritty rest or clean with Nimisera.”

Hermione expected for Nimisera to lift her eyes again at some point. It was odd. Her eye contact had been timid yet faultless up until Pritchard questioned her about her elf-lover. Draco must have realized this, too because he looked back toward Hermione. Their minds were in sync as they stared at each other quizzically.

“And now Ritty is dead, along with Moira, is that correct?”

“Hearsay! Minister, this is inadmissible information.” Draco stood up once more to object.

“Hearsay implies information that I cannot substantiate. Ritty, the elf’s swain, is _dead_. I have the documentation to prove it.”

“Minister, I can assure you this was not a part of the discovery file.” Draco retorted.

Kingsley lifted his chin at Pritchard. “Is this true?”

“I assumed the defense received the autopsy reports. Although, my associate is more familiar with the paperwork and how it’s distributed.” Pritchard said slyly.

Hermione watched the alleged associate stand. She recognized him. It was Wesley Selwyn. Father of the deceased Death Eater, _Willan_.

How convenient.

Now it was clear who hired Pritchard to challenge the courts.

“We only just received confirmation of the third victim yesterday night. I assumed someone would have been efficient enough to inform you.” Pritchard shrugged, feigning ignorance.

“We weren’t.” Draco said with a seething accusation. “Which means it was withheld _illegally_ from discovery.”

“Officer Malfoy,” Kingsley warned, gesturing him to settle down before he turned back to Pritchard. “Do you have the official Auror report on this murder, Counsellor?”

Wesley walked to Pritchard and handed him a few forms before he made his way to Kingsley and handed him the reports. Kingsley reviewed the documentation and invited Hermione to edge closer and consult with him.

A disturbing wave of anguish swept over her. It was awful what had been done to Ritty. But, it was authenticated documentation. It confirmed former house-elf Ritty was indeed dead.

Murdered.

It went against _everything_ Hermione believed.

“Very well. It is admissible.” Kingsley said almost with a groan as he pounded the hardwood gavel. “The Wizengamot is dismissed. We will move forward with the trial. Officer Malfoy, you and your defense will be allowed a full copy of the murder reports and we will reconvene Wednesday morning.”

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“I don’t trust Wesley Selwyn.”

Hermione was leaned against Dracos desk as he gathered his belongings. It was a little past five and the case had been swimming around in Hermione’s head all day. After Kingsley had adjourned, Aiden, Owen, and Draco reviewed the new discovery information once they understood the angle of the prosecution. Hermione left Draco to prep their witness and go through everything necessary. He promised he would get her up to speed by the end of the day, which is why she’d been in his office for almost an hour.

“Neither do I. They’re trying to paint Nimisera out to be a jealous ridden monster who committed three murders out of rage.”

“No one is daft enough to believe that poor elf is capable of triple homicide.” She watched as he buttoned up his outer robes and struggled with a particular button. She slapped his hand away before replacing her hands with his. “We know what heinous, mad, and evil looks like. That elf is innocent.”

Her fingers looped seamlessly up his chest as she continued to seal his robes together.

“I know you’ve done a thorough sweep of corruption within the DRCMC while Potter and I worked hard to destabilize political bias here but, blood prejudice and conservative creature ideals still exist further up in the hierarchy. There will be those who will side with the prosecution. They don’t care whether that elf is actually guilty or not. They care to push back on the changes they’re being threatened with.”

He would know. He’s one of them. Or _was_ one of them. His stance on magical being policy may have shifted but, she could never quite gauge him.

Or maybe she refused to.

“It’s a good thing you’re Head of Auror Offices, then.” Hermione looked up to meet his fixed expression on her. “It helps, you know, that they see you as one of them.”

She patted his chest after she clicked the last button at his neck and stepped back.

“Granger…”

“It doesn’t bother me anymore. What they think of me. I know I’m a hazard to their outdated ways. And I know what _I_ believe is right. I’m no less or better than them either, regardless if they believe my blood is tainted.”

“I know.” He took another pair of steps toward her. His expression held a warm intensity as he stared down at her. “You never need to prove yourself to me.” His jaw twitched. “Kingsley knows precisely what the prosecutions agenda is. That’s why he put you onto this. I told him to.”

She knew it.

Well, she suspected Kingsley had an ulterior motive allowing such a smearing case to even make it to a preliminary hearing with the entire Wizengamot present. She had _no_ idea Draco specifically requested her.

It wasn’t a terrible idea to have her on it. In fact, her involvement further pushed their devotion to the corruption cleansing they’d been working on for years. The fact that Draco ordained himself in it made her view him differently.

There was _some_ integrity behind that insufferable arrogance.

“You’re staring. One might question your upbringing.”

Hermione rolled her eyes in an attempt to quash the small blush that crept around her ears.

“You’d be surprised just how universal basic manners are across muggles and non-muggles.” She crossed her arms and started on a path to leave.

“I don’t see you any different than myself.” He stopped her, the hand that clasped her forearm releasing her like it stung. “I hope you know that. If I have done anything to make you feel otherwise, tell me. You _are_ my equal.”

Hermione suddenly felt thirsty. That passive roil of warmth washed over her again. He held her gaze with almost a pained expression. Draco looked like he’d said something wrong. He didn’t realize she was being playful with him.

“You haven’t.” She assured him with a small smile. “However, you’re wrong about one thing. We are _not_ equal.”

Draco offered her a questioning pout.

“I have higher intelligence clearance than you.” She perked with an exultant boast.

There was that signature little smile and gleam in his shadowy irises.

“I think you want me at your mercy, Granger. I’ll grovel if it’s what you truly want. I’ve said before, I do love a woman on top.”

Hermione fought a slow longitudinal smile. “Good evening, Mister Malfoy.” She turned to leave with the sure feeling that Draco hadn’t taken his eyes off her as she exited his office.

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The trial went horribly awry. A unanimous decision gave the prosecution a conviction and Nimisera was found guilty of using Dark Arts to Murder Moira Selwyn. Hermione was upset but understood why Kingsley chose to follow through with the conviction despite the prosecutions lazy, prejudiced objective. She he only prayed it was well worth the long term goal in setting a zero-tolerance precedent.

As Malfoy predicted, the prosecution used the victory to declare a Wizengamot mistrial on the Willan Selwyn murder.

“We’ve received an appeal regarding the magical forensic evidence on Willan Selwyn. They’re claiming we omitted information that could have prosecuted the defendant.” Draco was standing in the conference room leaned forward with his hands pressed palm down on the table.

“Who do we report to when there’s a forensic mishandling?” Aidan asked.

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek when she saw the look on Dracos face. From the vantage point of someone unfamiliar to his small quirks, he was imperceptible.

But to _her_ , she saw him bracing his weaponry of a smug-hidden retort.

“I’ve made it my sole objective to delineate a _comprehensive_ vetting system and avoid corrupt sentencing. We rarely ever grant appeals under the basis of ‘ _forensic mishandling’_.” Draco responded, watching the two men squirm uncomfortably under his hard tone. “You’ll report to me if such findings arise. Hermione, where do we go from here?”

He was being formal, respectful, setting an example for the men and how they were expected to address her. However, she still had to adjust to the the use of her first name falling from his lips.

Hermione looked up to see Draco staring at her, awaiting a response. She thought back to his question: _Where do we go from here?_

If the appeal was regarding forensic evidence on the Willan Selwyn murder to connect the one Nimisera was just convicted for, then, “We utilize forensic evidence to discredit the prosecutions theory by introducing irrefutable facts to their expert witness during questioning. It’s a classic preface to deny the appeal and propose a new suspect.”

“Beautifully brilliant.” Draco murmured absentmindedly and one of the young men chuckled. Draco shot them a deathly glare. “We need to bury the evidence with new ones. Even if we know Nimisera had nothing to do with Moiras murder, we need to prove she did _not_ murder Willan—clues that we missed, evidence that contradicts their claims—”

“Can we run another diagnostic on the wand to see if there were any other spells cast at the time of the alleged murder?” Owen interrupted eagerly.

“The Department of Magical Equipment control already ran multiple scans. Did you not read up on the latest case updates?” Draco shot him down.

“We can argue the Stockholm defense. I’ve read all about Hermione Grangers legi—“

“If you think I’m a hard sell, Hermione Granger is solid stone. The concept of _impressing_ someone means you need to stand out.” Draco dismissed Aidan tiredly. “And I’ve already had someone prep Nimisera for that.”

Hermione stared up at him impassively, not allowing her expression to betray the spasm of warmth in her heart. She was slightly amused with Draco’s harsh ostracism and simultaneous compliment of her. Poor Aidan just wanted to prove he was well rounded in her legislation.

Draco was the one that stood out to her in that moment, though.

“Is she taking any medicines? Maybe we can argue sleepwalking. It’ll protect her under the Stockholm Act of listed traumas.” Aidan bounced back unhindered. He was persistent. A good quality that she knew Draco silently appreciated.

“A healer has informed us that she only consumes an herbal prescription for her magical arthritis.” Draco pushed himself to stand straight. He put one hand in his pant pockets and the other massaged his temple to ease the headache he appeared to be warding off.

Hermione watched him close his eyes. For a slowing of time, she imagined he’d look peaceful asleep, with his usually groomed hair tousled just above his eyelids.

_Stop heeding him, Hermione. Think._

“Wait.” Something struck her. “The Prior Incantato demonstrated the crucio curse was used. Arthritis causes magical inflammation which would make it impossible to perform any sort of wand magic.”

Draco’s eyes snapped open. The way they pierced through her disrupted a dam of water in her lower belly.

His lip curled.

She’d just given them the perfect defense to build off of.

“What am I paying you two for? I’m not here to micromanage you two gits,” Draco addressed the two young men. “Don’t expect her to do all the thinking for you moving forward.”

“Officer Malfoy, I’m quite flattered.” Hermione feigned indifference as she stood from her seat and readied herself to leave when she noticed the time, growing ire of Draco’s badgering she knew was part of his mental initiation for prospective Aurors.

She didn’t agree with his tactics but, somehow his methods had proven effective. He managed to fill the Auror Offices with adept and pragmatic witches and wizards in only thirteen months. “Though, I think the boys deserve a little more credit, no? They’ve done fabulous work. No doubt because of your unyielding dedication for fair _judgement_.”

Draco chuckled dryly. Hermione smiled at the two young men who blushed at her kindness and she excused herself, heading for the door.

“You’re right. Where would I be without your counsel?” His tone was casual, laced with a figurative wager.

Hermione’s hand paused on the doorknob and spun her head back at Draco. “You’d be slightly more dismal and desolate.”

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The prosecution presented their expert witness and proceeded first with their line of questioning. They rested and it was now Draco's turn to question the prosecutions witness.

“Healer Bridges, you’ve specialized in magical injury and illnesses for a long time, correct?” Draco straightened his cuffs and commandeered the entire room as he approached the woman.

That tone. Hermione recognized it, _liked_ it.

“Yes, that is correct. I’ve been in this field for about forty years, receiving certifications in London, France, and Japan. I also studied muggle pathology in Switzerland.”

“You’re familiar with magical arthritis then, yes?”

“I am.” The Healer nodded. Her eyes flitted to Pritchard.

“Could you explain to the Wizengamot today what that is?” Draco didn’t allow her enough time to seek guidance from him.

Her response needed to be of candid impartibility.

“Well, to understand Magical arthritis, one must understand it’s muggle derivative.” The woman on the witness chair wrung her hands together. “Arthritis quite literally translates to joint inflammation which causes stiffness, dullness, burning, and overall discomfort where two bones meet. There are many different types of diagnoses for muggle arthritis as well as its causes.”

“I’m sorry Minister, are we here for a lesson on magical anatomy or to seek justice for wrongful murder?” Pritchard broached with a condescension from the area he was seated.

“Officer Malfoy, please explain the relevance of this?” Kingsley said.

There it was again. She knew it was coming. The subtle tic of his right eye told her he’d been waiting for this moment.

“It will become _apparent_ , Minister.”

So smug. So _perceptible_. Only to her.

“Very well. Healer Bridges, you may proceed.” Kingsley wagged a hand for the woman to continue.

“Magical Arthritis effects the entire body and typically occurs as a direct result of overt magical trauma that has been deemed irreversible with any form of magical remedies, including potions and herbs. The only form of healing available is a therapeutic tea of crushed dittany and liquified aconite. It only reduces pain. It does not cure or inhibit the disease from occurring.”

The healer gave Draco exactly what he needed to build from there. He was brilliant.

“Healer Bridges, please confirm the medical diagnoses of Nimisera.” Draco hands her a paper to review and walks over to give Kingsley, Hermione, and the prosecution a copy. Hermione pretended to review the information as she was already familiar with the document.

“She indeed has been diagnosed on three different occasions with Magical Arthritis.” Kingsley confirmed to the court.

There were scattered whispers about.

Draco stretched his neck softly and turned back to the expert witness. “You also testified at Moira Selwyns trial and are familiar with her autopsy report as well?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Can you describe the difference between the two murders?”

“Well, at first blush they are very distinct. One was obviously very violent and the other appeared more pre-meditated. But, a more in-depth review indicates that they were both crucio’d by someone well versed in the Dark Arts.”

“And how were you able to come to this conclusion?”

“Objection, Minister leading the witness!”

“Overruled.” Kingsley batted his hand, not even bothering to entertain the futile objection.

Hermione could paint out the faint auspicious lines around Dracos mouth as he motioned for Healer Bridges to continue.

“The autopsy reports indicated that both Moira and Willan suffered approximately five minutes of crucio trauma before the killing curse was cast. In my professional healing experience, only highly trained Dark Wizards have been able to pull off such a cast. And in many instances it was a method of interrogation torture.”

“Oh, please!” Pritchard clamored disruptively. “Your father must be abhorred by how you’re diluting the Malfoy name.” He spat toward Draco.

Hermione gasped at the mans brash audaciousness. She quickly looked to Draco for his reaction, hoping that hadn’t offended him.

“Order, Mr.Pritchard!” Kingsley scolded when a domino effect of shuffling ensued around the entire courtroom

Draco didn’t look like the mans words impacted him in any way. A simple smile dressed his lips.“This is your witness, Mr.Pritchard. Surely you’re _confident_ in the validity of their assessment?”

_Yes._

Draco tilted his head awaiting an answer he knew he wouldn’t get before proceeding. “Healer Bridges, is it medically possible for Nimisera to have cast a deadly curse?”

“No. In fact, it is my expert opinion that if any three of the Unforgivable Curses were cast at any magnitude by someone with magical arthritis, the repercussions would be physically paralyzing, quite literally speaking.”

Draco shot his head at Hermione and she blushed. She could practically _hear_ his appraisal.

_Beautifully brilliant._

Draco paused, allowing the mass of Wizengamot personal to process his defense.

He cleared his throat.

“We know the weapon used to allegedly murder both victims was a wand belonging to Willan, _obviously_ done to frame the defendant and confuse evidence which _should_ point to a more fitting suspect. Members of the Wizengamot and Minster—Nimisera has already been wrongfully convicted of the murder of Moira Selwyn, and the idea of a retrial for Willan Selwyns death is not only ridiculous but unjust.”

Hermione smirked inwardly. _He was good._

“The defense rests.”

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Hermione was in her office, responding to over twenty memos that were zipping back and fourth between her and the other departments of the DMLE. She had been so swamped with work, she’d pulled her hair up into an effortless messy bun. She rubbed the back of her neck as she reviewed the papers before her.

“Am I interrupting?”

“No more than usual.” Hermione remarked. She hadn’t heard him enter.

Draco slithered in and sat directly on Hermione’s desk beside where she sat, disturbing the slew of scattered paper on the surface. She reflexively looked up at him. It’d been days since she’d seen him without a parade of Ministry personnel between them.

“How can I serve you today, Mister Malfoy?”

“I’m here to serve _you_ but you if you insi—“

“Get to the point.” It was quarter past five. He should have left or at-least remained on his side of the floor. She wanted to finish her final tasks of the day.

She heard some shuffling. Draco unfurled the Daily Prophet from inside his black blazer.

“Oh no please don’t—

“You did this to yourself Granger. Fawley didn’t work out so you went back to _McLaggen_?”

Draco's interests in Hermione’s love life had been bordering impossibly obnoxious. She wondered if his interest went beyond just being a pretty faced boil on her arse.

“Malfoy, if Kingsley or Harry hadn’t vouched for you, I would have reported you multiple times and fired you by now.”

“Oh, Granger. I think you secretly enjoy me.”

_Stop heeding him._

“If I did, what would it matter?”

_Or not._

“It matters a lot.” He leaned forward to place his elbows on his thighs. “You keep returning to that lanky prick. He must be special to you.”

His face was unreadable.

Hermione nudged his thigh and he brushed it back against her. Her heart stuttered at the limited contact. She gulped and lowered her head to hide the heat rising around her neck.

“…I’m not actually seeing McLaggen. I think he finally grew tired of waiting for me.” Hermione laughed dryly. “I only had Rita Skeeter print some old photos of us out for tea. I did it to get Fawley to stop sending me a marriage contract after only two measly dates. They weren’t recent.”

“Fawley wouldn’t last.” He said with a sure confidence, his demeanor seemingly more relaxed. She couldn’t tell if that was supposed to be an insult. “You’re still not going to tell me how you have Skeeter wrapped around your dainty little finger?”

“That information is reserved for me and only me.”

Draco slid off the desk and walked to sit across from her. He threw his legs over her desk, once again making himself uninvitingly comfortable.

“I’ll get it out of you one day.” His voice was smooth and even enticing. She avoided eye contact. “I should mention, there have been new advancements on the Nimisera installment.”

“I thought Kingsley denied the second case and was going to acquit Nimisera for Moiras murder.”

“He did. But, someone leaked the entire case to the press. Albert bloody Pritchard made some bold statements. Some rubbish about justice for Ritty the elf. He might actually have a case with this one. His strategy could get Nimisera the execution sentence.”

What an opportunist. “With public pressure and attention, this is sure to attract politically charged comrades of a particular _breed_.”

“I’m ashamed to be affiliated with said breed.”

“As you should.”

“Granger, that tongue of yours is colorfully sharp today. Might have to do something about that.”

Hermione’s throat felt thick, and she swallowed it away.

“It’s been a long day.” She confessed, feeling safer shifting the conversation. “I know you’ll keep Nimisera safe and find the real culprits behind the murders. I’ll get in touch with my connections in P.R. and find who leaked this case. In the meantime, I’ll draft up a gag order for Kingsley to issue as soon as possible.”

“Save it for Monday,” His tone was suspiciously casual. He paused and scratched his head. He was contriving something he wanted to say. “I’m here to escort you out, actually.”

“I can see myself out of this building just fine. I’ve been doing it long enough.”

She didn’t have plans with him this evening. Not once had he invited her anywhere. They’ve never stepped out beyond the Ministry together, so what in Merlins name was he up to?

“You forgot?” Draco sniggered after a moment of studying her form.

“Forgot what—” Hermione’s eyes widened when she glanced at her calendar.

It was Teddy’s birthday.

How could she let it slip her mind? Maybe she shouldn’t have let the owls pile a junk of mail on her window sill at home.

She was almost done with her work checklist. Couldn’t she just send a gift in lieu of her absence?

No.

Harry would maul her if she skipped out on his God sons birthday party. In the past, she’d show up to small gatherings extra early and slip out once everyone started arriving to avoid Ron. Ginny understood and covered for her when it came to Harry and the rest of the Weasleys. She’d make up an excuse that were just shy of convincing.

And _never_ had she been at Grimmauld place with Draco. She didn’t even know when Draco had become involved. She knew his aunt Andromeda had assumed responsibility after her daughter and Remus passed. She also knew she had been shunned from the Black family. But, Hermione never concerned herself with how or why _Draco_ formulated a relationship with her close enough to become involved with Teddy.

It would be the first time she’d be there with Draco present. She supposed it was reassuring that he’d be there. She could use him to distract herself and stay grounded.

 _Ironically enough_.

Hermione was at a crossroads and only one path lead to her best friend _not_ becoming cross with her.

“I’ll get my things.” She surrendered. “But, you better help me write this gag order tonight. I can’t function knowing I’ve left important work undone.”

“Slow down,” He said. “This old establishment won’t collapse because you didn’t overachieve _one_ time.”

Hermione got defensive. “There’s much responsibility on my shoulders. I have to overachieve.”

Draco’s head fell back to emphasize his amusement. “As fun as it is, not everything I say is meant to insult you.”

She blew a puff of air. “Apologies if after all these years, I still can’t tell the difference.”

That put a damper on his expression and it didn’t leave her with the victorious feeling as it usually would.

His eyes were down, focused intently on his pointed feet before he shuffled them off her desk. He was swift and calculated with his movements as he fixed himself to stand up.

“There’s more to this world than wizarding politics.” He expressed ruefully. She’d never seen his features flicker with self-loath. “You don’t have to come with me. You’re the most capable woman I know.” Draco met her soft brown eyes. “I only thought we could both suffer in silence together.” He attempted to string some humorous levity at the last part.

“Malfoy.” Hermione gulped audibly. She felt bad. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d treated her with indignity. In fact, aside from their routine interchange of witty and at times annoying repartee, he’d never actually asserted her with disrespect. “If I’m going to suffer with anyone, I suppose you’ll do.”


	3. Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's part 3! Smut heavy. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The toddlers birthday party had been cute and simple. Balloons, magical confetti, Molly's baked goods, and Harrys Dragon Punch were all the rave for the children. The adults had their own stash of champagne, wine, and butter beer at their disposal as onlookers.

It was awkward to say the least. Hermione had avoided interacting with anyone beyond work colleagues besides Harry, Ginny, her parents, and the three uneventful men she attempted to date for nearly three years.

Hermione appreciated that Draco ceased to leave her side the entire night. It was almost like he sensed she didn’t want to be ambushed in a social setting that raised a hidden sense of anxiety in her, even though they were mostly _her_ friends, _her_ family.

He grabbed her a glass of sparkling wine and stole some fire whisky from Harry’s hidden bar. He included her as he maneuvered seamlessly through the party. Andromeda was there with some relatives Hermione didn’t recognize but, Draco introduced her anyway.

Occasionally, with his sizable hand glued to her lower back, she’d lean in with a more than eager submission as he whispered in her ear throughout the night, _“Are you feeling well? Are you comfortable? Stop thinking so much. More wine?”_

She always nodded to more wine. It was what softened her inhibitions.

Ginny had been right. He _was_ great with kids. Teddy nearly trampled Draco when they first stepped into Grimmauld place, gifts in hand, with an innocent glee. It sparked an unsettling feeling inside of Hermione watching _Draco Malfoy_ lift the boy in his arms and twirl him in the air before sprinkling his head with kisses.

Then, when Ron eventually graced Grimmauld Place with his fiancé, her heart dropped momentarily. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t built up the moment in her head because Trisha Buttermere was a _gem_. She was talkative, short, round, and suited Ron very well. She never imagined admitting it to herself but after meeting Trisha, it made sense Ron would end up with someone like her. She was a gentle soul and welcomed Hermione with open arms, even inviting her to a brunch date with Ginny.

Greeting Ron had been as stiff and unpleasant as you’d expect. Thankfully Ginny, Harry, and Draco eased the tension substantially and were able to co-exist with no issue. It helped that she felt protected with Draco the most, not even fully conscious to how their proximity and hushed giggling may have appeared to an outsider. She almost forgot why she didn’t want to attend the party in the first place.

Until Ron pulled her to the side the _one time_ Draco excused himself to use the loo.

He was brief and told her she looked well and mentioned he had been a bit confused seeing her with Draco, to which she immediately corrected their dynamic as _strictly_ work platonic. To sum up the two minute conversation, he asked if he could stop by her office sometime regarding professional advice. She agreed without giving it any thought because despite everything, she missed his friendship.

Her break-up with Ron had been one of the worse things that happened to her. One Saturday afternoon, he sat her down in their shared bedroom at the Burrow, and told her he was no longer invested in their relationship.

After four years together.

She had been living with him in his childhood home since completing her final year at Hogwarts following the conclusion of the war. When she began working at the Ministry, they’d become lost with time. Eventually, they fell into a modus operandi of simply existing as bodies warming their bed at night, disagreeing over frivolous little things, and resenting each other.

Hermione had moved out without a word even though he never asked her to. At first, she thought if she gave him space, he’d realize his mistake and come running back to her.

Then, one day, she overheard her colleagues in the break room discussing seeing Ron with a mystery woman. That was the tipping point for her year long emotional shut down. She never gave anyone an explanation or said goodbye to the Weasleys. It was too humiliating for her. It felt like Ron had betrayed her because he was _supposed_ to end up with her, chase her.

All those promise filled kisses of forever had turned to ash in her throat. So she left. She took everything she ever owned, purchased a flat somewhere in Wizarding London, and pep talked her own mirror reflection that she was going focus on her career.

In retrospect, she should have seen it coming. That frolicsome spark of adolescence had vanished as they grew into different people.

Now, here she was, stumbling into her opulent mid-rise flat with Draco Malfoy behind her after regurgitating her entire stream of consciousness. At some point, struggling to remember when, they’d left the children’s birthday bash and drunkenly wandered around London.

Neither felt confident enough to apparate due to fear of splinching so, after much bickering, they stumbled upon a mini pub in a small wizarding community. Draco challenged her on something she couldn’t recall was worth ingesting _seven more_ drinks over. She lost track of time, spilled her soul to him, and in a slurred stupor, Draco offered to Floo her home safely.

There was some more bickering about Floo powder, something about _work_ until Draco impatiently wrapped his arm around her and pressed her against him in the small space of the hearth, allowing the fiery verdant soot to propel them to a new destination.

They were giggling as they tumbled forward into the cool air of her living room.

“Granger,” Draco was still recovering from laughing so hard. “I don’t think either of us are mentally adequate to draft up a gag order.”

Hermione carelessly tossed her heels off and discarded her outer robes. “You promised. You said if I chugged that entire glass of Ogden's finest, you’d help.”

“That was before you made me finish that awful glass of red currant rum,” He took one long drag toward her. His eyes were clouded over. “ _And you’re drunk_. Do you even know where you are?”

“Diagon Alley,” She teased with a poke to his chest. His face was so close to her. God, had his face always been this pleasant to look at? The way his eyes lazily watched her features lit her skin on fire. She turned away almost guiltily from the thoughts that threatened to form. “Make yourself comfortable.”

She needed to put some distance between them.

She walked to hang their robes in the coat closet to shake off the steam he made her feel. When she closed the door and looked back up at him she found him with arms akimbo, a dazed expression as he took in her home.

She watched him with intrigue. He had the look of someone who’d often thought about what her intimate dwelling would look like. His lips twitched in thought while he slowly appeared to memorize every little detail.

“Were you expecting a whole in the wall?” She suddenly felt insecure. Damn the liquor and how it spurred a mess of emotions.

He shook his head. “No. You make a decent salary. I expected something a little bigger for you.”It was a 1,700 square foot flat which she got a fantastic deal on.

“I suppose everything appears smaller living in a massive manor.”

He chuckled. The dark vibrato from his throat spurred something deep in her.

“You’re also a small person.” He walked slowly in her direction.

“Don’t let my height fool you.” Hermione puffed out her chest, attempting to appear intimidatingly taller with a pout dressing her expression.

The hum of his laugh again.

He dropped his forehead against her and she froze. His eyes were closed. He sighed. “Maybe I’m the drunk one. I don’t think I’m going to make it, Granger.”

His whiskey spiked breath consumed her senses. What was left of it, at-least. At what point had his long arms caged her in and she’d been backed against her living room wall?

Her eyes idly swam up along the buttons of his shirt. She pretended to smooth his collar and give her mind something to do since she was slowly losing control of it.

“As your overseer, I might have no choice but to take disciplinary action.” Why did that sound so seductive? She only meant to appear daunting.

His eyes snapped open. One of his hands planted against the wall moved to her shoulder, clasping it gently. The fatigue was leaving him, replaced with something _new_.

“I see you still want me trembling for you.”

_His voice was so deep._

Her lips parted, a heavy breath leaving her body unable to respond.

An eyebrow raised, barely widening one of his blue-grey eyes. The hand on her shoulder slid upto cup her neck until a simple finger traced her jaw and caressed her bottom lip.

She shuddered. She stilled for a long second as he watched her, possibly expecting her to slump forward. She knew that look, what his body wanted.

Gods, the wished she’d taken a sobering potion. Everything was beginning to spill over.

_Because I’ve craved it longer than I admit. Craved you, Draco. And I want to tear my hair out for it._

“As have I, you clever woman.” He mumbled with a satisfied rasp. “But please, don’t. I’ve grown fond of that wild bushy mane of yours.”

Her stomach, lower than that, pulsed. She almost told him to stay out of her head again. But, he had insinuated he could read her like a book. The same way she absorbed all of his subliminal little oddities.

It was when she closed her eyes to steady her rapid pulse and unsteady breath he took advantage, pressing his lips against hers.

Hermione accommodated the intrusion and nipped his lower lip. They were so soft. Softer than she expected and he growled, deepening the kiss with a desperate inhale, breathing her into him like he would never have this opportunity again.

The taste of his last drink filled her mouth. It was pleasant on him, and she welcomed it with a flick of her own tongue as it met his. Draco’s hand dipped down to her waist, pressed his chest to hers, tasting her, drinking everything she had to offer him.

She wrapped her arms around his neck so tightly, his broad looming figure had her on her toes.

Both of Dracos wandering hands curved over her backside and kneaded her there so hard, he almost lifted her off the ground. “This is too bloody perfect.” He grinned against her lips, referring to her bum.

“Mmmm.” She moaned against his mouth. She turned around mischievously, her back meeting his chest. She was so bold, it should have frightened her. Instead, her shaking hand reached behind to slither her fingers through his hair and opened her neck up to him.

His vocal satisfaction when he sunk his teeth into the curb of her neck was the catalyst for the dry grinding of her hips against his. His large hands guided her with a bruising grip, ensuring she felt exactly just how hard she had him.

She bit her lip hard. It felt amazing. It was a carnal excitement she hadn’t felt in so long.

In a few swift movements, they made it onto her velvet settee sofa. Hermione’s skirt inched up around her waist as she straddled him. Her raring, knicker-covered clit rocked against the stiff swell of his erection. 

She could feel his finger nails leaving crescent moon marks on the plush flesh of her arse and it only encouraged her to snog him deeper, taste his neck, listen to his manly mewls.

It should have felt wrong. Kissing the beautiful, sometimes neurotic, man beneath her had Hermione heavy and restless for something dark. It was an amalgamation of the liquor and years of tension that coursed her veins and plagued her senses.

She felt the twitch of his sweltering hard length suffocated in his trousers and her tongue reached out to lick his earlobe, earning her a red-hot hiss. She giggled, completely delighted by her sexual power.

Draco carded his fingers into her hair and roughly forced her to look at him as he murmured. “You’ve got me trembling for you just the way I knew that _cheeky_ little mind of yours wanted.”

That tone.

One that could rattle the entire building complex.

“You did say you love a woman on top.”

He growled as he crushed his lips against hers, ripping her blouse open with one hand as the other glided and smoothed over her calf, squeezing every inch of her milky leg until he found his way under her skirt.  
  
Her breath was harsh when she unintentionally arched into him as he rubbed circles over her silk covered mound. Her knickers were soaked through. She knew she would have combusted in embarrassment had she been sober.

But she wasn’t.

His talented mouth left a heated trail of saliva as he sucked and glided over the curve of her breasts. His essence turned to a pleasurable chill that made the hairs on her arms turn to gooseflesh

“Shite.” Gasped Hermione when Draco cupped her breast with a wielded admiration.

“Dirty little mouth.” He purred though bared teeth while he pulled a single breast from her bralette and drank the hardened dark nub with a ravenous hunger.

Hermione shivered. She dragged her clit harder against him, frustrated with their sewn barriers.

Clutching him by his jaw, she guided his swollen lips back to her mouth. His flavor was everything she had ever felt. _He_ was everything she could ever feel, any other sensations paling in comparison.

Just as she’d begun undoing his shirt and relishing in the warmth of his bare, broad shoulders, a high pitched scratching noise gradually made its way to the forefront of her mind. It took everything in her to pull away and assess whether or not she was going mad—more than she had dry humping Draco Malfoy.

Draco mindlessly rubbed circles over the tops of her thighs as he listened, too. “Is that—”

“Crooks,” Hermione’s head dropped in utter disappointment. How could she forget about her one and only companion? He must have locked himself in the bathroom again. She was going to lose it if she saw _more_ scratch marks on the door. “He’s a true menace.”

Draco exhaled, nuzzling her cheek. “Go on. I’ll be right here.”

Hermione adjusted her bra and skirt as she stood up and went to release her half-kneazel from his self-proclaimed, finely renovated, prison cell. The feline purred as it left and she checked the door. She was going to have to restore it with a quick repairing spell tomorrow. She turned off the light to the restroom and shut the door.

Resting her back against the wall, blouse still split open, she took a moment to process what just happened. She chastised herself, but didn’t have the mental will to cipher any of it. She was exhausted now and her sexual buzz had subsided.

Eyes closed, she paced her breathing, rallying herself to the tempo of her heart settling.

“Granger,” Draco startled her, hands by his sides. “I should go.”

_No._

She reached out for him, hand wrapped around his forearm. The catharsis of the gesture eased the tension plastered around his shoulders. He was out of his element. That beautifully bright hair mussed about all because of _her_ needy hands, his shirt crumpled and half undone because of _her_ rashness, and his lean muscles bruised with teeth marks all because of _her_ _greed._

She didn’t know exactly what she wanted right now. But, she knew that for some reason, she didn’t want him to go.

“You don’t have to.”

“You don’t need to spare my feelings. I read people for a living.”

“Oh honestly, Draco. You’re not always only high and haughty sneers. Just be your charming wonderful self and don’t leave me all alone in this flat that is evidently too small for me.”

He was astonished. At what part of what she’d said, she wasn’t sure. She could barely tell whether or not she was being coherent. The final stages of alcohol consumption weighed on her.

“Either I’m sloshed or you just called me wonderful.”

“It’s true.” Her voice was strained. “I can’t count how many times in the last year your intentional nettling turned into a learning lesson.”

“I can’t be too surprised that’s the way to Hermione Grangers swotty little heart.”

She smiled softy, her grip on his arm tightening.

_Please, stay._

He stood unmoving, one tired eyebrow raised in her direction. He contemplated, she could see, before accepting her hand and capitulating to her bequest.

Together, falling into the plush of her mattress, their limbs tangled. His arm secured around her from behind and his breath tickled her ear as she drifted far away from her mind, and closer to him.

.

.

.

.

The weekend coursed by and it was Wednesday. Hermione had managed to avoid Draco for exactly four days. She hadn’t seen him since Saturday morning. As she’d awoken, her head throbbed until she came to her senses and the memories came flooding back. She had bounced out of bed like a wild kangaroo, and rushed to gulp down a vial of sobering potion.

Draco didn’t seem bothered by her reaction as he could barely form any words in the early peels of morning. He observed her, pieced her together like a jigsaw puzzle, and had made his way out of her flat, seemingly coming to a mental compromise that he should leave her to her own self-destruction.

By Tuesday, the aftershocks of apprehensiveness subsided and it distressingly occurred to her that she _missed_ him. She was left with an empty feeling. A loss that he hadn’t challenged her, come looking to strike her with that curled smirk and astute tongue. All she’d thought about the last days were him. She couldn’t stop replaying how he caressed her body, how he kissed her with a searing mania that reduced her to a liquid state of delirious zeal.

Certainly, he noticed she’d locked herself in her office and put in maximum effort to evade interacting with him. She even charged Angela with keeping her updated with the Auror Offices and it had been working out fine.

For now.

With two out-turned palms pushed down against her desk, she exhaled deeply, standing on the opposite side of her desk, back facing the door to her office. She had a spread of work to revise from the Obliviator Headquarters.

One more hour, a meeting with Ron, and she would relieve herself early for once.

 _Oh_ , _Ron_.

Had she failed epically at relationships because of sex? Ron had been her first sexual experience but, she couldn’t recall a toe-curling memory nearly equivalent to the light Draco’s lips and skin illuminated. Mclaggen never invoked much of a heat within her their one night together. It had been stale with minimal foreplay and a terrible lapse in judgment. The other two men she dated didn’t even make it past hand holding.

She wondered if there was something wrong with _her_. The ending of her relationship with Ron had done a number on her heartstrings. She thought maybe she had been too virginal, _vulnerable_ with him. With the others after, too rigid. She chalked it up to compatibility.

Then, under the influence of far too many drinks, she’d let go for _Draco_.

But, once the inebriating substance left her body the morning after, fight, flight, or freeze kicked in and she quite literally iced him out.

_Vulnerable to rigid. Is there an in-between?_

Or maybe she had just made the mistake in almost having sex with her employee—Draco Malfoy, a former Hogwarts peer, the man she should have never begun to grow fond of.

There wasn’t a shred of shame in her, though.

Perhaps Draco had been correct about her. She had awful taste in men. She was a dunce, an idiot, clueless when it came to love. She was beginning to resign herself to the idea that she just wasn’t designed for that sort of happiness, not even sex.

_Click._

The metal clink of a door locking brought her mind current. There was a foreboding feeling she knew who it was and she wanted to kill her secretary for letting him slip through the cracks.

_You were doing so well, Angela._

Maybe if she pretended he wasn’t there, he’d leave and pretend _he_ was never there.

Oh, but she should have known better when a familiar torridness ensnared her backside.

“You’re impossible, you know?” His voice would be her undoing.

Hermione turned her body to face him. His proximity almost knocked her over. She masked the surprise on her face, her jaw clenching in irritation. “M-mister Malfoy. Angela is under clear orders to not permit anyone into my offic—”

“I’ve been aware of that for about sixty-three hours now.” He interrupted, bringing an intentional hand to brush her hair back. He softly pulled a curl and watched it bounce back to its shape. “I would’ve given you all the time in the world to…reconcile with yourself.”

There was a moment that she should have pulled away or told him to leave. She found herself unable to move, unable to leave him.

“But, there’s one problem, Granger. I’ve been a patient man,” Hermione watched as his eyes dropped to her lips.“And I’m _not_ a very patient man.”

She swallowed nervously.

“Maybe we should talk about it.” Hermione could feel her face reddening.

“Go on then.” He near laughed at her, not quite cruel. “If it’ll make you feel better.”

_What was that supposed to mean?_

“I _mean_ ,” Draco drawled. “If having a clear conversation about Friday night will help that over-sized brain of yours rest, then I’ll listen.”

He _had_ to be invading her mind. Was she really that forthcoming?

“I-I…” Hermione sputtered. How pathetic. She needed to slow down the rapid fire thoughts of her brain. “It was highly inappropriate of me to take advantage of you like that. I crossed the line. It won’t happen again.”

Draco snorted. “ _Granger_. You never fail to torment me.”

She opened her mouth to speak but he put a halt to it.

“We’re far too old for this,” He started with a testy edge. Two arms came around either side of her. She was hypersensitive to the tapered placement of his hands at her waist. “I want you.”

Enamored blues took hold of brown and didn’t let go.

“I wanted you on Friday. I’ve wanted you every day _before_ that. I thought you wanted the same but were just too stubborn to ever act on it. I assumed I dropped enough hints. Teaching you everything there was to know about my Department. Convincing Kingsley to put you to a case that would catapult a monumental trend on the political legacy you want to leave—I _know_ you will leave in your stead. Giving you candid advice about your tragic love-life. Having your tea ready and exactly the way you like each morning.”

“Angela handles my tea.”

“Who do you think instructed her to do so?”

That surprised her. She just assumed Angela was only going above and beyond to impress her.

Hermione was quiet, lips parted, the bubbling need to relearn how to breath ready to overtake her.

“I thought,” Draco swiped his lower lip with his tongue. “ _‘She’s smart enough. She’ll come around. She’ll see you’ve tried to atone yourself all for her.’_ ”

There was a grating thought on her mind. As much as he attempted to plaster an inert halo around his confession, he made himself openly pregnable. She could see it behind those bone-chilling blue-grey narrowed eyes.

The power that Hermione could hurt him.

He’d been harboring feelings for her.

When did the idea of hurting Draco become actuated by _real_ emotion? There was a thread of sameness that stitched them together and it defied all sense of two people who were _supposed_ to hate each other.

The problem was that hate and love weren’t opposites.

 _Apathy_ was the opposite of hate.

And there was anything _but_ the absence of emotion for the man standing in-front of her.

 _“_ However,” Draco’s eyes slithered to a softness. “I’ve questioned my abilities to judge a situation these last few days. So, here I am.”

 _Judgement_. Judgement is what was keeping him at the Ministry.

She licked her lips. She couldn’t look him in the eye. She turned her head away, avoiding the advance. It was all too much. She wanted to jump his bones in that very moment, so she twisted and her back was once again to him.

“You should have courted me for dinner, tea—a date. Why didn’t you?”

“Due to our less than pleasant past, I knew you distrusted me.” His upper lip grazed so close to the cartilage of her ear, it caused the small hairs at the back of her neck to rise. He left no room for a draft of air to pass between them as he inched her back closer to his chest. “You would have regarded my intentions with suspicion.”

“Oh.” She whimpered. She really _was_ pathetic. She couldn’t even control herself for one minute. His cognitive accuracy of her had Hermione melting like chocolate in a fountain.

_Damn you, Draco. Why was he always right about me?_

He kissed the juncture between her neck and shoulder.

A peck of appreciation.

Her hips absentmindedly ground against him, reveling in being the sole cause of the hardening beneath his trousers once more.

What did she have to lose at this point? The things this man made her feel when just moments ago she accepted sexless, spouseless solitude.

“I have a meeting in less than fifteen minutes with Ron.” She breathed desperately. “I’ll leave my Floo network open for you at my flat.”

His free hand traced her side with a possessive gratefulness. She gasped as his head craned over the front of her shoulder and she reached back, finding his jaw as she turned her neck enough to kiss him.

“I’ll come to you,” He broke their kiss. “Only if you tell me what you did to Skeeter.”

Hermione opened her eyes. She was finally giving into him. “Is this really the time for negotiations?”

A devilish smirk.

He was cooking something up in his mind and it was a little exciting, if she were honest.

“Would you let me fuck you? Right here, on this desk?”

Gods.

She would.

She had to be strong.

“We can’t.” She sighed with a weak quip. “I told you I have a meeting.” 

“I don’t need to negotiate.” He pressed a dry kiss to her temple. “I could suck you, _lick_ you until you submit to what I want.”

This man would ruin her with his dirty, knicker drenching mouth.

Her hand slid between them behind her. Just a squeeze to hold her over and—oh, the _size_. Why had she held back from him for so long, again? All rationality seemed to dither away when he was near. What did that mean for them?

She’d worry about exactly what they were _after_ he relieved her built up tension _._

Draco eased his hands under her knee-length mock flare dress, stealing a handful of her breasts before she felt him drop to his knees behind her. The crisp air hit her as he bared her bum and took two mouthful bites of each cheek.

She squealed excitedly and a hand crept between her legs, nudging her to open wide and bend forward. She couldn’t help the blush that overcame her from the view he had of her arse. She had little time to process the sensations before he yanked her knickers to the side and burrowed into her wet, sensitive flesh.

She rested her forearms on her desk to open herself up to him while Draco delivered a slow lick to her clit. His tongue lapped at her entrance and she jumped when he switched to sweep up and down her dripping slit.

“Tasty little cunt.” His praise was muffled by her own flesh. The vibrato echoed through her labia, heightening the filthy way his hands held her open and invaded her pulsing clit. She loved it more than she expected.

His lips puckered as he slowed his sinful ministrations. Hermione moaned and pushed back against the lazy way his lips teased her before closing his mouth over the entire nub and sucking the plump flesh hard.

“Draco.” She trembled. It was all she could say. He was perfect.

His tongue sliced through the soft satin of her arousal, sipping her essence until he let a finger slip inside her channel. Her wanton desires monopolized every fibre of her being. Every squelching sound of her honey and satisfied growl over the sensitive ripple of flesh wrecked through her walls. She was on the precipice of falling.

“Ah, ah.” Draco relinquished her pleasure suddenly, fingers leaving with his mouth. She had been _so_ close to toppling over the edge. “I’m waiting for you to answer.” He peppered open mouth kisses against the back of her thighs, her arse, punctuating each word, barely skimming where she wanted him again.

“I only have a few minutes.” Hermione whined. She arched her back to reach him, his breath a scorching torture where is tongue had just been.

What would people think of her? Bent over her desk, irrecoverable to the fact that Draco Malfoy was feasting on her cunt from behind?

“Then you mustn’t waste valuable time.” He stretched his tongue over her gorged clit as his hands smoothed over her spine and the span of her lower back that curved down to the soft pillows of her arse. “Mmmmm, such a simple solution.”

Hermione fought for her sanity as much as she fought for her air. Why was his tongue so evil and good at the same time?

Two fingers traced around her lips and parted the doors to the bundle of nerves is praise. He blew gently over it. “Come on, Granger.” Index and middle moved halfway inside of her before he pulled them out and heard him suck them dry, sanctifying her taste.

It was agonizing.

“I’m blackmailing her!” She finally squeaked. “She’s an unregistered animagus.”

Content with her answer for now, Draco patted her bum to turn around and helped her out of her knickers. He stayed on his knees and pushed her to a perch on the desk while he shoved her dress up to her hips and pried her legs open to him, providing him an altar worthy view of her steaming pudenda.

“I’m going to do all sorts of things to you.” He nuzzled his perfectly pointed nose between her weeping lips and panted against her cunt.

Hermione’s fingers found a head of silver hair as she thrust her pelvis to him.

He gave her what she wanted full force and she watched through half-lidded eyes. She preferred this view of him at her mercy. His hooded eyes staring up at her, watching her respond to him, ogling her breasts, wishing he could see them under her dress.

His head moved in a circular motion, tongue dangled out as he swirled around the entirety of her clit slowly. He provided her an erotic performance and she undulated her hips faster.

She begged him to do more, to _give_ her more and that must have roused him, for he began to exhale heavily with an open moth, tongue paddling through her soft clit and juices with a flickery haste.

Hermione sobbed as she exploded against the slosh of his saliva and her cream. She was wracked with a mass of convulsions. Draco's slowing ministrations delivered her from the blissful high, entranced with her cunt shaking from the orgasm he just gifted her with. He kissed it with each buck as she came down before leaving one last appreciative peck and standing to meet her lips, his tongue sweeping her lower lip on the way in.

She welcomed that delicious mouth. It was a musky piquant that was doused with his own saccharine. He made sure she knew his appetite had been satiated—for now.

Draco broke their doting snog at the sound of knocking. “Right on time.” He smirked and picked her knickers off the floor, shoving them into his pocket while she adjusted her dress and stood up straight.

Hermione barely shook off the fantastic release she just had just as Angela entered with Ron right behind her.

“Granger, I am more than contended with the advancements we’ve made.” Draco shook Hermione’s hand casually, a deliberate look in his eye. He spun on his heels, pretending he hadn’t just pillaged her most sacred of places like a famished beast. “Weasley,” He nodded with a smug smile.

“Malfoy.” Ron answered with an addled expression, as if a beaming, polite Draco was an eery occurrence.

If only he knew.


	4. Part 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might take another two chapters to wrap up the mini-plot with the case I decided to get far too detailed with.
> 
> Lots of smut here!
> 
> Enjoy!

Hermione waited impatiently in her flat. Would Draco actually come? Would he leave her hanging? Was this a ploy to humiliate her?

No.

_He’s not that person anymore._

She fidgeted with a glass of water in her hand as she sat on a stool in her kitchen. Should she wait for him on the couch? Should she strip? Gods what was happening to her? There was such an underlying implication to having sex with him and she was second guessing her decision. He’d already done _that_ to her, so decency was out the window.

_You’ve already heeded to him, Hermione._

She had.

There was an unspoken easiness to him and a docility to their good-humored liaison.They were a force intellectually, and the last year working together had proven that.

_Just over an hour ago in your office had proven more._

She really needed to learn how to shut her brain off.

She decided a quick shower to freshen up might ease her disquieted bustle. The dampness between her legs left an uncomfortable stickiness and she’d had no choice but to suffer through it while speaking with Ron. It had been mildly difficult to concentrate. Her body had been assaulted and not given ample time to recover.

Having Ron in her office not even an inch from where Draco had her spread out like a banquet of cuisine didn’t make it any better, either. She even wondered if he could smell what they'd just done.

The thick energy and stiff greeting had been quickly un-inundated when Ron explained he needed her help. He said that he’d read about the case with Nimisera. Right away, Hermione had grown leery with his interest in the case. It had nothing to do with him

Until it did.

With a cherry bright face, Ron confided that he and Trisha had taken a brief break. They’d hit a rough patch months prior to their engagement, and after a night of sorrow mixed ale at a local pub, he admitted to a romp with Moira Selwyn.

Moira had been pregnant.

Ron made it clear that it was not his child. He told Trisha what he had done and she surprisingly forgave him and accompanied him to take a magical paternity test to prove his innocence.

He asked Hermione to help keep his association with the Selwyns private.

Hermione knew that Moira's pregnancy was motive to kill. If it wasn’t Rons, as he claimed, that meant it belonged to someone else if Moira’s infidelity extended beyond Ron.

But, there was a sore stubbornness she still felt toward him and couldn’t help but ask him why _she_ should help him with anything.

He knew she owed him nothing and told her he expected her response. He was candid in how he hated himself for hurting her and wanted to reach out. But, as small as she looked, she was—in his words—frightening.

They laughed.

She _could_ be quite terrifying when she wanted, when properly provoked. And she’d be lying if she wouldn’t have cursed him a time or two had he approached her in the earlier stages post-breakup. He expressed his regret on how he handled everything with her. Apparently, Molly never failed to remind him, either.

Her heart clenched at the mention of Molly, even when she laughed again. In that moment with a coy grin on her face, and where the corner of Rons eyes curbed with a lopsided, dopey expression, she found what she missed. The familiarity of it. As friends. As family.

Unfastening her quill, Hermione had agreed to help Ron. She asked him to divulge anything that could possibly help their case, down to anything she may have mentioned the night they were together. By the end, she had an entire piece of parchment paper filled with her penmanship.

As she walked him out, Ron had caught her off guard with a hug. He told her he was proud of her and that despite the circumstances, he never stopped caring for her.

Neither had she. She stopped loving Ron long ago. Reconciling their friendship was all she could truly ask for.

With a final goodbye, he suggested she come to the Burrow for dinner sometime.

Once he was gone, Hermione was left with a dogmatic spirit of optimism.

And the first person who came to mind was Draco.

Suffice to say, it was probably one of the most successful meetings to date.

Hermione twisted the knob on the shower and the steaming sputtering drops of water ebbed away along with her thoughts. She stepped out to wrap a fluffy white towel around her body and swiped the fog covered mirror to check her reflection before heading out.

Her body collided with a solid figure in the hallway and for a split second, she was confused as to who had entered her flat. She instinctively tightened her hold on the towel. Before Hermione could speak, Draco bent down and lifted her from the place where her thighs and bum met, and carried her into her bedroom

“Draco!” She giggled, hands clutched over his strong shoulders, legs waving in the air.

He tossed her onto the bed like a limp rag doll. She fell with a squeak and bit her lip in response to his rough handling of her. It shot a spark to her lower abdomen.

The weight of Draco’s body over hers was all-consuming as he crawled up her lithe form and kissed her. It was slow, warm, sweet. She sighed into him as her hands crept around his shoulders to clasp around the back of his neck.

“Citrus clean just for me,” He broke their kiss and connected their foreheads. Her browns flitted between his greyed blues. “I apologize for my tardiness. I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

“I wasn’t,” She smiled. He was so lovely from where she laid. “Just a bit anxious.”

It was still all too surreal for her. Too fast. Too sudden. What if this was a mistake? What if she was in over her head? This was Draco Malfoy.

This _is_ Draco Malfoy.

He graced her with the arc of his brow. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I am—I mean—you’re not—I thought we would never—after Hogwarts and—what we did—”This wasn’t the time but her mind wouldn’t rest. She chewed on her lip. “I’m a spluttering mess.”

Draco brought a thumb to release it from her worrying teeth. “I sometimes still think about it. How awful of a little shit I was. With Potter, you, the weasel. I can’t remember what I hated so much, _why_ I hated you. It’s like when someone dies, and as the years go on, you can’t even remember what that person sounded like. Just a faint reprieve of memories.”

“I don’t expect an airing of grievances from you. We were so young…”

“But you deserve it. You deserve so much more, Granger.”

Did she care about the past? Did it still haunt her? No more than the war, which would periodically plague her dreams. It was a rare occurrence but when it happened, she’d wash her face with a splash of ice cold water and move on. She’d forgiven him so long ago, made peace with the upheaval that followed the conclusion of the war. She supposed her attitude toward him the past year was simply a defense mechanism, a barrier to all she knew him for.

Hermione slid a dainty hand to his jaw. He tilted into her touch instinctively. She felt it twitch.

“I forgive you, Draco. I forgive you for the _poncier_ parts of you.”

He laughed and smiled, a soft one, “Leave it to you to be absolutely…sublime.”

Hermione wet her lips, her eyes flitting between his. “I know. I admit, I may have spent far too much time wondering if this conversation would ever come to fruition.”

“I imagine. We’ll work on that big brain,” He nuzzled her nose with an affectionate desire. “But right now, I need to make you mine.”

Draco pecked her on the lips, then kissed her jaw, down her sensitive nape, and right up to the hem of the towel concealing her nudity. His teeth came out like fangs and latched onto the only barrier jacketing her before he unfurled it off her body.

Her worries seemed to fade away with the fluid feel of his mouth and hands all over her.

He left a trail of his froth when he licked straight down between the valley of her breasts and tended to the smooth planes of her stomach. She squirmed as his tongue and lips slithered with praise over her hips. She could feel the effusion of her libido spilling out as he leaned back on his haunches, nudged open her thighs, and grazed his teeth over her right leg.

He started with her ankle, leg bent and taut for him. She keened, a lingering gaze on her as his mouth moved up to her calf and took a teasing bite before switching to her left leg and revering the smooth limb with the same attention.

“You’re,” Draco gnawed at her thighs as he snaked closer up. “Exquisite.” Her back arched off the bed as he playfully nipped the hooded lips at the apex of her thighs.

He leaned forward, prepared to taste her for a second time that day but Hermione wanted to feel closer. She dragged him up to her and snogged him like her life depended on it.

In no time, Hermione worked away his clothes until the only electric current coursing the room was from the lascivious friction of their bare bodies. Draco squeezed himself while he slid the warm tip teasingly over her clit. He watched her hotly, mewling pleadingly for him to fill her.

Hermione couldn’t take his salacious, simpering grin any longer. With all her strength, she pushed Draco onto his back and climbed him like she’d never ascend higher. With a desperate grip of his cock, she aligned herself and sunk down.

They both hissed in relief at the finality of the feeling. It was easy to get lost, let go with him.

Draco guided her movements loosely, hands gripped along her hips while she fell forward until their faces touched. Her free palm found the fabric on her mattress beside his head as the other admired the panes of his abdomen and chest.

She hummed when her mouth found his again, teeth clashing, tongues toying, while her body danced in a a wave-like motion on him.

He abandoned her mouth to spread the love over her breasts, which fell just below his chin for convenient access because of her angle. His tongue flicked and sucked her nipples the way he treated her cunt and it fired a primal ripple in the way her back curved and her hips writhed.

“Mmmm, Draco, please, like that.”

Her eyes shut to let the assaulting sensations permeate the the thrill in the air. The slant of his cock filling her, splitting her from beneath was unreal and she sped up her movements.

She rode him deep and steady.

“Fuck me harder.” Draco grunted, two hands seizing the plump cheeks of her arse roughly, creating a slapping rhythm that met his thighs at each press. She could hear him slowly losing control, his pants becoming harsher, jaw growing more tense with each thrust. To see him, to _hear_ him fogged her mind and exacerbated the heat gradually bubbling below.

Her body quaked with a building tempo. Draco appeared impressed with her vocal capabilities and moved his fingers to her clit. One arm completely encircled her while she clung to him, and sang a litany of praises against his ear. He played the sensitive bundle of nerves like a tuned fiddle until she started trembling with a series of stuttering breaths.

“Come Hermione. Come for me.”

It was euphoric. The rumble of his deep command tied itself to the burning, satisfyingly turbulent orgasm. He had ignited her with skilled fingers that rubbed her fast as she bounced wantonly on his cock. The angle, the rubbing, the sweat, the _juices_ they spilled, the way his cock contracted after pumping so ruthlessly sullied her into a narcotic like sedation.

It was a raging storm of limbs tangling as they fell back onto the bed together. Draco’s light, tapered ministrations caring for her, thanking her, adoring her before sliding out of her.

They huddled under the bedsheets, laying on their sides, face-to-face. When their uneven breaths tempered, Hermione broke the silence with a disbelieving laugh. The aftermath of voltaic soul-shattering sex washed over her.

Draco watched her with an incredulous expression. It didn’t last long before he also broke into a fit of delirious laughter with her. She swung her leg over his, tying them closer together, and she held his face gently.

“I don’t think I’ve ever experienced anything like that.” Said Hermione as she kissed his forehead.

He responded to her with kisses to her cheeks and then her nose and brushed away some of her sweat ridden hair. “I’ve never been with a woman like you.”

Her heart contracted and Hermione dusted his nose playfully, both relishing in each others warmth.

Time became a trivial concept. They didn’t count for how long, because they laid there, in a smother of feather light caresses and emotive gazes of what words could never express.

Hermione watched him. Draco touched her. Until sleep took them exactly where they wanted to be.

With each other.

.

.

.

“The prosecution has leaked gossip to the press in order to terrorize the defendant and poison the Wizengamot by inciting prejudice uprising against magical creatures. I call for an immediate gag order!”

Draco wasted no time. Hermione sat in her usual spot in the dusky courtroom. She felt herself pulling her robes tightly against her to protect her from the unusual crisp chill. Kingsley called for an emergency reunion as a result of her written gag-order. It was now in the hands of Draco to properly present his argument before Kingsley inevitably passed it.

“Officer Malfoy is speculating, Minister. He can make all the wild allegations he wants to make himself feel better about not having a sufficient defense, but my office had nothing to do with this.” Pritchard defended lamely.

“Really?” Draco promptly snapped open the newspaper in his hand. “ _Nimisera was under the influence of Baruffio's Brain Elixir, an unregulated magical narcotic, the same night Ritty was murdered. She claims to have gotten into an altercation with her lover over his close relationship with Moira Selwyn. Autopsy initial reports found traces of this same Elixir in Ritty’s blood stream. This gives weight to the prosecutions theory that Nimisera may have drugged Ritty before murdering him due to an alleged inappropriate relationship with his former overlord. With this evidence, this is beginning to look more and more like a love story gone tragically awry, and, at the expense of one of the finest families in magical society.”_ He shut the paper, content he made his point. “Thats a direct quote from the ‘handler in discovery.’”

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek. She’d have a chat with Skeeter about that misguided quote. It was all false. A vial of the elixir was only found at the crime scene. There was no evidence it had been consumed by anyone. It was a semi-clever admission since it couldn’t actually jeopardize the case.

Not clever enough, though. It was obvious the intentions were to suggest public supposition.

“There are a dozen handlers in discovery on both ends.” Counsellor Pritchard shrugged. “How do we know someone in the Wizengamot isn’t behind it?”

From the corner of her eye, Hermione caught the smirk of a man who sat high-nosed on the prosecutions side of the benches: Wesley Selwyn, the man who hired Pritchard to challenge the Auror offices and prosecute their own suspect. The man who was supposedly distraught over his son and daughter-in-laws death. The man who had remained quiet and unquestioned the entirety of every show-down. The man she nor Draco trusted

“Those are offensive accusations, Minister!” A voice announced. Hermione shot her head back to examine the source of the proclamation. It belonged to a lanky man with a red beard longer than Dumbledores ever was. He wore dark violet robes and a large chain with a W hanging around his neck. He was a member of the Wizengamot.

Hermione frowned, a suspicious cloud curdling in her mind. It gave weight to the ever-soaring theories of corruption.

Draco had been fastidiously correct. This case needed to set a precedent.

Kingsley acknowledged the Wizengamot members’ concern. “Counsellor Pritchard, releasing confidential information by the highest council of servants in Wizarding Britain is grounds for immediate termination and a mandatory ten years in Azkabans Civil Obstruction Penitentiary. You cannot make those claims on grounds of speculation.”

“I meant no real umbrage, Minister. I was simply defending Mister Malfoy’s juvenile accusations of me, demanding a _silly_ gag order.”

Draco snorted with an incredulous expression. “There have been nine stories printed with photos and lies of the defendant smeared all over the tabloids! Are we to believe this isn’t your doing?”

He was handsome when intellectually maddened. She was almost ashamed that seeing him like this aroused her.

Almost.

Pritchard looked at Shacklebolt, an attempt to garner his sympathy. “I don’t have editorial authority over the Daily Prophet.”

“Minister, it doesn’t matter who leaked the information.” Draco disregarded Pritchards contempt. Hermione knew he decided it wasn’t worth arguing with the man. “Society vilifies women, especially non-human, in these scenarios.”

“Enough grandstanding.” Kingsley huffed fiercely. “My Head of DMLE will conduct a thorough investigation on exactly how this information got out. Public penchant for this trial could result in undue bias, therefore I am granting the gag order. Every person involved in this case is proscribed from speaking to the press.”

Kingsley was just about to dismiss the reunion until Draco took the opportunity to cock back the loaded weapon.

“Actually Minister, there is a motion I’d like to request. It is time-sensitive to the upcoming trial.” Draco waved a set of documents. Hermione smiled. She knew what he was presenting. It was apart of their plan and seeing him in action filled her with pride.

He’d been filling her in different ways in recent weeks, too but that was merely an after thought the ghost of his libidinous pleasure left between her legs. She never stopped feeling him on her.

“This is a hearing for a gag-order, Minister.” Pritchard objected with an irritated snarl.

“I don’t see an issue if we’re already here. Go on, Officer Malfoy.”

“One of my Aurors reviewed the magical forensic autopsy reports and discovered a tumefied lesion resting in Mrs. Selwyn uterus.” Draco had both Corner and Moon distribute the documentation to Kingsley and the Prosecution. “It seems it was overlooked as a natural consequence of the crucio curse. But, after taking a closer look, we believe Moira may have been pregnant.”  
  
Pritchard analyzed the documents and shook his head furiously. “I thought this case was about a deceased elf whom murdered another elf. What is the motion again?”

“Statistics have proven a victims killer is usually someone you know. An acquaintance, a friend, a family member, a lover. If we wrongfully sentence an elf to death, that will create distrust and leave us susceptible to our methods being attacked and criticized for not considering _other suspects_.” Draco’s eyes walked over the members of the prosecution before landing on Pritchard. Although his tone was reprimanding, his volume remained balanced and meticulous. “We move to exhume Moira Selwyns body. We believe a second autopsy will point to proving the defendant is innocent of _all_ crimes she has been accused of.” His gaze moved to Hermione momentarily from the corner of his eye. “We will run Magical DNA tests on the unborn fetus. If there is no match to Ritty or her husband, we will require all of the men in Moira Selwyns life to submit to DNA testing. The prosecution will be forced to accept other suspects for justice _. If_ that’s what they’re truly after.”

“Officer Malfoy is making outlandish remarks in order to fuel liberal vitriol about my conation—

“What did I say about this grandstanding, Counsellor Pritchard?” Kingsley halted the man in his tracks. “You will have all the time in the world to righteously contend at the next hearing. I’m granting your motion, Officer Malfoy. Report to your superior when that’s done and make sure the prosecution is up to speed. I’ll have no more of this contempt in my courtroom. Court is adjourned.”

.

.

.

“Oh Gods.” Hermione’s head dropped back against Draco’s shoulder. Her visit to his office had been intended to deliver urgent findings that would benefit the ongoing case that Kingsley had been delaying all month long.

Amongst their growing familiarity, obvious attraction, and over five hours of zero contact, she somehow ended up on Draco’s side of the desk, in his lap, slotted back-first against his chest as she rode him.

He had her legs pinned wide, gripping the back of her knees, while his pulsing cock pumped in and out of her. A hand moved to her waist, assisting in the rhythmic slap of her arse against his muscled thigh as she pounded his cock repeatedly. He shuffled between her waist and breast, indecisive on where his explorative hands wanted to remain. He wanted all of it, all of _her_ at once.

“I can’t come until you do,” He growled in her ear. “Milk me of everything I have.”

God, his mouth was enticing and Hermione hated that she loved every inch of it. He encouraged her to pounce down harder on him while he edged himself to straighten his spine so that he could comfortably snake an arm around and flick her clit the way she loved.

She gasped in surprise when his fingers flattened over the exposed bud with a swift slap. The sting was mild but erotic, and she was curious for more. Draco came down on her clit once more with a full palmed slap and she almost screamed. Draco muffled her with his free hand, covering her mouth roughly.

“Shhhh. Your sweet melodies are for my ears only.”

Hermione cried into his large hand, entranced with his dominance. Had they forgotten to silence the room this time?

She didn’t care.

Another savory slap of his hand came down over her raw mound, gradually repeating the frequency of it until it turned into soppy firm smacks. Her senses were in overdrive while his thick member plunged deep into her channel as he continued stimulating her clit with loud, tangy taps.

With champagne eyes glued to the ceiling, he thrusted harder, she climbed higher, and he tapped faster. She focused on the feeling; the jiggle of her breasts when he hit her with a crazed vigor, the possessive growl in his throat that had her tongue darting out to lick the sweet and salty palm of his hand which caged her girlish whimpers.

A stuttered choke escaped her, eyes rolling to the back of her head. Her body stilled momentarily before her back bowed hard as the intense orgasm washed over her. Draco didn’t last long after her muscles swallowed him whole. He toyed with her sensitive clit, the place where their bodies meshed, messy and wet with their carnal residue.

Just as she regained some of her composure, Draco slipped out of her and started to strum her over-sensitized bundle of nerves again, rubbing her profusely. She just finished and wasn’t sure if she had another one in her.

“You do,” Draco rasped in her ear, pulling her back against him as if reading her mind. “I need one more from you, for me. I want you to remember who this belongs to. Who fucks you as hard as I do. Who can play with this cunt as deliciously as I do.”

That was it for her. She writhed and convulsed in his hands so hard, her legs clamped closed on his hand while he held her down firmly. Her nails gnawed at his knuckles to push him away, but he refused to relent his ministrations. She shut her eyes until he decided she’d had enough, and she brought herself back down.

Her legs gave in and she twisted her body slightly to kiss him. He massaged her limp body sweetly while she thanked him with her lips, submitted to him until they found the will to finally stand, dress quickly, and cast a scourgify.

"That can’t happen again.” Hermione pulled her curly hair into a simple half up ponytail. “We wait until we’re at my flat.”

“You say that every time.”

Hermione dropped her arms and smoothed over her figure to ensure she was as groomed as she appeared before entering his office.

“It’s my guilt. I’m…I could get in serious trouble.”

“You like trouble,” He yanked her body to his body and trapped her between himself and his desk. He slipped his tongue into her mouth. “I don’t intend to work here forever.”

“I’m not firing you.”

“I know.”

Her face fell. The admission made her heart drop. The possibility of not seeing Draco at the same frequency one day stirred a disappointment that she needed to condition herself away from. They weren’t even….were they together?

“Stop thinking,” He chuckled, caressing her cheek. “I’ll respect your wishes. From now on, we wait until we’re at your flat. I’d never do anything to jeopardize your career.”

Why did he have to look at her that way?

“And what about your career?” She gave him a curious look, placing her palm over his hand that held her face.

“Malfoy’s don’t need careers.” His lip curled, even though there was a seriousness to him. “My serving here has been restitution. Making amends for the damage caused due to the war.”

She pressed her lips into a straight line and lifted another hand to wipe the crowding of sweat at his hairline.

He kissed her again.

“ _And_ to clean up the family name.” Draco pulled away from her lips. “I’m the sole heir to the Malfoy estate. It’s my duty to carry on a legacy that my children and future generations will be _proud_ of. I am a Slytherin after all.”

“Self-preserving, yes.” He never failed to amuse her. “Your family has managed to keep a low-profile in the last years. I think the work you’ve done has contributed to that. You’re doing so well here.” It came out as a compliment, although she could almost taste the pleading tone she tried to omit. “I’ll support your endeavors, whether that’s staying at the Ministry or…doing whatever it is _Malfoy heirs_ do.”

Draco offered her a genuine laugh. It was magnetic. He released her face and took hold of her hand over his, sweeping it with a tender kiss. “Your blessing is all I need.”

A blush crept around her neck, “Here.” She turned to pick up the folder that had been lost on the floor at some point.

“What’s this?” He accepted the leaflet of documents.

“What I initially _came_ for.”

“Hm.” He chuckled darkly at the double entendre.

“I scribed everything Ron could tell me about that night with Moira. I forgot all about it. There might be something there that can help you narrow down a viable suspect.”

“You’ve been sitting on this for weeks and now is when you’re presenting this to me?”

“Actually, I’ve been sitting on your face for weeks while convincing Rita Skeeter to testify for you.” Hermione watched his eyes gloss over a dark shade. She could see him replaying some of those moments like a pensieve. She knew she needed to pedal away quickly before she let his darker desires get the better of _her_. “She’s agreed to do so. She was at the pub the same night Ron and Moira met. I _may_ have requested she leave out that detail when testifying."

Draco's expression was deliberately aloof. "Breaking the law for the weasel."

"It's not going to impact the case." He knew that bit didn't matter so she didn't understand what the need was for his comment. Adding yet another innocent suspect would only help the prosecution. "Skeeter also informed me that she was tipped off on the case via an anonymous owl. She provided me with the letter sent to her. It was doused in an unidentified dark magic. I was able to get past some of its more susceptible barriers and have your team do a forensic analysis on it. The results showed there were traces of owl saliva belonging to the Eurasian eagle owl.”

Draco stared at her. “There are only two magical families in possession of the largest owl species; my family being one of them."

“And the Selwyns,” Hermione confirmed. She inhaled deeply. “I…have to ask.”

“No. It’s not my owl. If you’d like to cross reference DNA, you’re free to do so.” His tone was facile, understanding almost.

“I believe you. For the sake of being thorough and doing my job, I just needed to ask. I trust you.” She looped a finger into the belt at his trousers. She really didn’t want to offend him. She did have a considerable amount of confidence in him. “I trust you’ll use this information to your advantage?”

Draco perked a brow and nodded as if it wasn’t obvious his mind had already begun concocting a slew of ideas. Swiping a finger to his tongue before flipping to the next page, he says, “It says here that Moira told Ron to run away with her because she was scared of someone. How could you let this collect dust for so long?”

Hermione shrugged. “They were drunk. People say all sorts of things when they’re intoxicated. I was more focused on the detail that she was _pregnant_ before she died.”

“Yes.” He drawled. “It could also be something we can look into.” Draco’s forehead coiled in thought. “I’ll send Corner and Moon to look into her relationships with family, friends, acquaintances. Nimisera oddly enough only had good things to say about her former Masters—other than what she’s claimed about Moira.”

“I noticed during the trial.” Hermione thought back to Nimiseras sudden change in demeanor when questioned about Ritty. Something about her downcast eyes was versant. She couldn’t quite yet figure out why.

“It could be a response to trauma. House-elves have hardly been treated well.” Draco wagered. “I’ve witnessed first hand what punishments Masters have bestowed, usually for the pettiest of reasons.”

“Maybe.” Hermione bit her lip and looked at the embellished clock on Draco’s wrist. “I must go. I’m operating an escalated issue that requires disciplinary action. It’s for the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects.”

Hermione gave him a peck and was preparing to move away from him but he’d long placed the folder on his desk behind her and took hold of her small waist.

“Wait.” He coaxed almost viscidly. It was mushy-like and made her feel fuzzy. “I’m still cooking dinner for you tonight. If you have any requests, now would be the time.”

“Oh—I—Draco, I—I agreed to drinks with Ginny and Trisha tonight. We’re meeting at a restaurant so, I’ll probably dine there.” Hermione caught the flicker of his expression from doe-eyed to deadlock. She’d agreed to plans with Draco first. She felt awful for being so forgetful. “I double booked. This is my fault. I’ll owl Ginny. She’ll underst—“

“No. Go, have fun. You need this. It’ll be good for you.” His visage softened. “There’ll be other nights for us. I was getting greedy, having you all to myself for four weeks straight.”

Hermione smiled softly and curled her finger around his tie. “I’ll make it up to you.”

He gripped her arse as their mouths connected, sharing a slow snog in which Hermione lead with an impressive control. She hoped it left him feeling as weak as he left her.

“How am I to resist devouring you when you kiss me like that?” Draco whispered.

She giggled. “You’ll just have to be _patient_.”

.

.

.

Hermione trampled through the front door of her dark flat. A wave of gloom struck her when she realized she’d be spending her first night in weeks without him. She’d grown accustomed to the panes of his body, the clench of his protective embrace beneath the warmth of her quilts. The absence of not waking up to him, to the beams of the sun reflecting off his perfectly angled cheekbones tugged at her heartstrings. He would always be up before her. His clear gray-blues would be the first thing she lost herself in when she opened her sleep ridden eyes.

She sighed.

How could something that was meant to be wrong feel so right?

She supposed it was convenient she’d had a few drinks with Ginny and Trisha. It was just enough to leave her feeling a comfortable buzz that would doze her into a pleasant slumber for the night without her thoughts plaguing it. She removed her robes and shoes, and walked over to her window. She pried it open to grab the small pile of letters toppling, closed it, and tossed them onto the hearth. She’d worry about those tomorrow.

As she walked toward the hallway, a dimly lit candle and dark silhouette on her settee sofa caught her attention.

Draco.

He’d waited up. In her flat.

For _her_.

Even though she‘d ruined their plans. He had been so eager to make her a home cooked meal and tonight was supposed to be the night he’d woo her even more with another one of his many hidden talents only she was privy to.

“Did you enjoy yourself?”

She kept her bare feet planted. “Yes. It was delightful, actually. I don’t remember the last time I laughed so hard.” Hermione paced a few steps forward, enough to get a better view of him. He was reclined cozily in loungewear. The loose material of his pants hung fixedly over his muscular thighs which were spread open in a comfortable position.

“I’m happy to hear. You look happier.” He slowly shut the book Hermione hadn’t realized he had been reading.

Her eyes trailed over the thickness of his hamstring, up his chest, until they landed steadily on his face. His profile was shadowed by the white rays of the moon as she inched closer to him.

“I’m happier coming home to you.” She moved until her knees were slotted at the edge of the couch between his spread knees, allowing closer contact. She felt warm.

“I came by to feed Crookshanks and make sure he didn’t lock himself in the bathroom again. Don’t worry, no marks on the back of the door,” He grinned. Draco set the book down next to the burning candle on the coffee table. He relaxed forward, leaning elbows on knees, looking at her. “I couldn’t find it in me to leave.” 

_I’ve been a patient man. And I’m not a very patient man._

“It’s the draperies. They make this place…irresistible.” Hermione said with a ginger jape. Her own hands braced his shoulders, lungs filling and deflating.

“Fine choice of words,” His blue-grey eyes darkened, staring straight ahead, fixed on her abdomen, as if he could see right through her shirt. His fingers found either side of her waist, sliding down her polyester pants. She stepped out of them and he placed both hands at the tops of her thighs.

“You look tired.” Her voice trembled. How many times had they gotten intimate and he still left her nearly breathless at the scrum of his touch?

“I had trouble falling asleep,” His thumbs hooked under the hem of her lace knickers. They grazed there, eyes narrowing slightly, almost debating. “I have a better chance at getting some rest now that you’re here…” Inch by inch, he slid them down her legs and flung the wet fabric elsewhere.

She focused on keeping her breath steady while he undressed the rest of her slowly, fingers gliding along her burning skin after her clothes. Hermione was on edge; his motions ignited tiny sparks along her skin that traveled to her centre. He skimmed her arse with such a light tenderness, she couldn’t help the escape of a pleading noise escape her.

His forehead fell against her bare stomach, his breath a warm tickle. “I’m in the mood for a midnight snack.”

Then, she felt his lips kiss her there, the most sacred of places, still standing before him. Her head tipped back, fingers clinging to the silk of his blonde locks.

He teeth scraped her bottom lip. “Like that,” She moaned. “I love when you do that.”

He hummed at the praise. He wouldn’t stop puckering his lips, creating the most obscene suckling noises. She wanted him to add his tongue, but he was determined to wind her up with those tantalizing lips.

“Your petal smells wonderful,” He closed his mouth over her swollen nub with another suck. “Tastes even better.”

Gods, she was dripping for him. She could fuck his face for a lifetime and never get tired of it. Never get tired of how he woke her nerves, brought them to life.

He planted a few more sloppy kisses over her clit before she helped him lift his shirt over his head. He supported her as he laid her down on her side. He removed his bottoms and slithered behind her on the sofa. Sprinkling her neck with desperate kisses, he hooked her leg behind his thigh before sinking into her wet fissure.

Strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her back against a warm hard chest. He maintained a slow tango, his thrusts long, hard, and intentional while a hand curled under her to tweak her nipples, tease her pert breasts with a decompressing massage.

Hermione whimpered as her hips ground back to meet his pulsing cock. It was an incredible, deep, thorough penetration. He kissed and nipped her neck, her cheek, and swore so hotly in her ear, it vibrated through her like a gong.

“Yesssss. Touch me, please.”

He obeyed her pleas with a hungry gruff. His arm abandoned its grip on her abdomen and dove into the waters of her silky cunt. It was exactly the added pleasure she needed from his deft fingers. He worked her body skillfully, and she was ready for the coil to spring and take her to that place only he had been able to.

“I want to make you come with my mouth, then fuck you hard.” He hissed, pulling out suddenly, and rolling her onto her back. He spread her wide and pushed her knees up to her chest, his eyes devouring the exposed flesh before dropping forward and attacking the nerves once again.

“Dracoooo!” She screeched when he flitted his tongue fast, diving into the hooded corners of her vulva. He sipped, suckled, nipped, and jerked his head in a side to side motion. Hermione could barely see the work of art he painted on her cunt. His firm hold kept her legs pressed back and away, and all she could see through the haze of her impending release was a head of platinum hair and glimmering eyes.

She gave up trying to admire the exhibit, and dropped her head back. She reached for the arm of the couch and clung to it. She allowed herself to get lost in his mouth that preyed on her like a famished man.

“I’m so close.” She was becoming strangled by the lust, her body in the beginning quivers of her impending climax.

His mouth suctioned over her clit like a vacuum. She felt him stretching the tender flesh until the pressure of it all pushed her over the edge and her jaw fell open in a silent scream. In the blink of an eye, Draco propelled himself up, placed her legs on either side of his shoulders, and filled her again. Her orgasm had just begun and he wanted to fuck her in the middle of coming.

The feeling was ethereal. He his weight dropped forward to capture her lips and swallow her moans. It was almost uncomfortable, her body bent so deeply back. But, the pleasure over doused any pain. Her muscles wouldn’t stop clamping his cock and it spurred the speed of his hips. He was clinging to whatever remaining control he had, his tightening balls indicating he was losing the battle.

And he did.

He grunted loud and harsh when he spilled inside of her. Her own orgasm still wracking her.

Finishing together was a stifling intimacy she never thought she’d experience. Not to this magnitude.

She didn’t think she’d ever get enough of it.

He carried her bridal-style to her bedroom and they dozed off together. It was yet another night he spent with her.

She had heeded to him.


End file.
